


Holding Back

by ThornWild



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Humor, Bisexual Character, Blow Jobs, Body Image, Bottom Peter, Bottom Wade Wilson, Consent is Sexy, Crime Fighting, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Desperation, Eventual Smut, Everyone Has Issues, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Guns, Hand Jobs, Humour, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, More Fluff, New York City, No Ellie (so sorry i love her too), Omorashi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Peter Has Issues, Peter is in college, Praise Kink, Rimming, Roleplay, Romance, Scars, Secret Identity, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Smut, So much kissing, Spideypool - Freeform, Top Peter, Top Wade Wilson, Trust, Wade Has Issues, Wade Saves Peter, cheerful masochist deadpool, cherry picking canon, do people actually do that, how boring is it to have sex the same way all the time, like what even is Marvel canon anymore, probably, slightly rough sex, the boxes have issues, what am I even doing, what can I say i like to toss it up a bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:45:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 49,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4821014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornWild/pseuds/ThornWild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about not being able to die is that it makes everything so dreadfully boring. Seriously, immortality's a bitch. So, you gotta keep things interesting. How else are you supposed to get through the day without going insane? Well, more insane.</p><p>Wade wants to be a hero, but fighting bad guys isn't enough to keep things interesting. Wooing Spider-Man might help, though. And exploring his kinks definitely will. Of course, he never thought anything would come of either of these things. Boy, was he wrong!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First ever Deadpool fic! Be gentle...
> 
> EDIT: This was gonna be a one-shot, but then ideas happened, and now it seems to be growing. Tags will be added, and ratings are subject to change. There may be bromance, romance and eventual porn. I don't know. Which is really the fun part, if you think about it! :)

Wade squats at the edge of the roof, surveying the street below. He needs to piss. For a moment he considers standing up and pissing off the roof, seeing if he can hit any of the poor fucks below. He plays with the thought, turning it over in his head.

_Spidey wouldn’t like it._

**And it’s not a very hero thing to do, neither.**

‘I fucking know that, shut up,’ he says out loud. The boxes are right, of course. If he’s really gonna try to do the hero thing, pissing on innocent passers by isn’t exactly a great move, hilarious though it would no doubt be. There’s a little less room for mayhem when you’re a hero than when you’re just a merc. He really shouldn’t have had all that Mountain Dew.

He stands up, anyway, because squatting with a full bladder is like begging to piss yourself. If he can’t piss over the edge of the roof, maybe he can parkour his way to somewhere he can. Only, he realises, he kind of likes this feeling.

_Really? This is something we’re into now?_

‘Maaaaaybe?’ Wade scratches his neck. ‘Never thought about it before.’

 **We’ve been into way weirder things,** his brain points out. **Kind of stuff we do for shits and giggles . . . Hell, this isn’t even a kink by comparison.**

_Ooh, we could experiment! See how long we can hold it!_

Wade considers this for a moment. ‘I guess what with the healing factor there’s no chance of doing any real damage to my bladder . . . Not that that would stop me. I draw the line at pissing myself, though. This suit’s a bitch to clean.’

_Which is really dumb when you think about it, considering how much blood you get on it on a daily basis._

Wade is still arguing with himself when someone lands on the roof behind him. He notices at once, but it takes him a while to pay the figure any mind. It’s only when Spider-Man clears his throat that he turns around.

‘I don’t mean to interrupt what’s no doubt a fascinating monologue—’

‘Dialogue,’ Wade corrects him. ‘Trialogue? Di is for two, but there’s at least three. Sometimes six. Multilogue!’

‘Whatever.’ Wade is pretty sure that Spider-Man is rolling his eyes behind the mask. ‘I was under the impression that we were hitting that trafficking ring tonight. Only I’ve been waiting for you for about an hour.’

**Oh yeah, _that’s_ what we’re supposed to be doing tonight!**

‘Oh shit, yeah! My bad, Spidey. Got distracted.’

_Thinking about pissing._

‘Thinking about—no, shut up. Thinking about _you_ , gorgeous!’ Wade bows with a flourish.

Spider-Man’s arms are crossed in the body language of someone who’s entirely unimpressed. ‘Uh-huh. So, you coming?’

‘For you, baby? Always!’

Spidey doesn’t dignify the double entendre with any kind of response. Instead he turns away and stalks across the roof. Wade follows. A thought strikes him just as they reach the other end of the building.

‘Hey, Spidey,’ he says suddenly. ‘You into watersports?’

Spider-Man halts and turns his head slightly. Wade decides that masks on other people suck. He’d like to be able to read Spider-Man’s expression right now.

‘You mean,’ says Spider-Man slowly, ‘like, surfing?’

**Oh-em-gee, isn’t he just precious? Aww, who’s an adorably naïve Spider-Boy!**

_Too cute. Too. Fucking. Cute. I may barf. You know, mentally._

Wade swats the boxes away, also mentally. Not that they aren’t right. They are so right.

‘Yeah, something like that. Totally what I meant. So, we hitting that trafficking ring or what?’ And with that he jumps off the roof, forgetting that he’s six storeys up and that landing on concrete really fucking hurts, healing factor or no.

* * *

Fighting on a full bladder, it turns out, is hard. It’s also kind of a turn-on. Especially when Spider-Man’s leaping around with his hot moves, showing off that pert ass of his. The traffickers put up a decent fight, but nothing the two of them can’t handle, once they’ve released their victims into the night.

And Wade tries not to kill anyone, he really does, but it just so happens that blades are meant for stabbing, and his hand-to-hand isn’t as great as Spider-Man’s. Besides, one of them is aiming his gun at the back of Spider-Man’s head while the arachnid’s busy with three others, and Wade doesn’t really have time to think, so he runs the fucker through. He doesn’t feel especially bad about it.

By the time the fight is over, Wade really, really needs to piss. All that moving around has shaken his bladder and it’s making it harder to hold it in.

Spider-Man makes a disapproving sound once he’s finished webbing the knocked out traffickers together, looking down at the dead guy.

‘What?’ says Wade defensively. ‘He was gonna shoot you! I just saved your life, baby boy.’ He pauses. ‘Do I get a kiss as a reward?’

‘You really, really don’t,’ says Spider-Man dismissively. ‘Couldn’t you have, like, non-mortally wounded him or something?’

Wade throws up his hands in exasperation. ’Everyone’s a critic! I don’t know what kind of bullets you’re used to, sweetcheeks, but the ones I tend to deal with move really, really fast. So, no. I just reacted. You’re welcome.’

_He doesn’t look happy, does he?_

**You’d think he’d be a little more grateful to us for saving his life.**

Spider-Man sighs, his crossed arms dropping to his sides. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry. Thanks, Deadpool.’

Wade blinks, not sure if he actually heard what he thought he heard. ‘Am I hallucinating?’

_Did he just apologise?_

**Did he just thank us?**

‘You’d better get out of here,’ Spider-Man continues. ‘The cops will be here to arrest this lot soon.’

Wade cocks his head to one side. ‘Aren’t you coming?’

‘Someone’s gotta explain this to them.’ Spider-Man nudges the dead guy gingerly with his toe.

‘I could get rid of the body,’ says Wade without missing a beat.

‘Yeah. No.’ A moment passes. ‘So, you going or what?’

Wade crosses his legs. His bladder feels full to bursting point now. Their conversation was a decent distraction, but now it’s getting almost impossible to ignore. ‘Yeah,’ he says slowly and swallows hard. ‘It’s just . . . kinda hard to move.’

**Think of a babbling brook! Or a waterfall! Crashing waves, maybe.**

_Or, you know, just think about pissing._

‘Dudes! Not helping!’ Wade growls under his breath.

Spider-Man crosses his arms again. ‘Why?’ His tone is skeptical. ‘You injured?’

Wade laughs in spite of himself. ‘No, no. I’m good. Just . . . Kinda really need a piss.’

Spider-Man sighs and rubs his forehead with his hand. ‘What are you, five?’

‘Fine, fine.’ Wade starts shuffling towards the door of the warehouse. The going is slow, though, and after a few steps he whimpers pitifully and grabs his crotch.

_That’s right, show Spider-Man how you can’t even hold your bladder._

‘Shut up!’ Wade manages to croak.

‘I didn’t say anything,’ says Spider-Man. He sighs again and steps around Wade to look at him. The faint sound of police sirens reaches Wade’s ears, which means Spider-Man has been hearing it for a good while already. ‘All right. Go hide behind those crates.’ Spider-Man points to the back of the warehouse.

Wade turns around and shuffles the other way. He reaches the crates just as the police cars come to a screeching halt outside, and squats down behind them as quickly as he can manage.

**Bad move, bro.**

‘Motherf-aaaahh . . .’ Wade hisses as his bladder begins to void without warning. Pissing has never felt so good. Urine trickles out into his suit, warm and wet. He sits back against the wall, trying not to moan. There’s no point trying to stop it now, he reasons.

_Thought we weren’t gonna wet the suit._

**We weren’t, but we did anyway. It’s gonna be hell to clean.**

‘I don’t care,’ Wade whispers, closing his eyes in bliss.

 _So, we_ are _into pissing ourselves, then. Good to know. Another kink to add to the list._

Beyond the crates, he hears voices. Spider-Man is talking to the cops, but Wade can’t focus on what he’s saying. A minute later he’s still pissing. The piss is leaking out of his suit, forming a puddle around him.

When it finally stops, he looks around and it occurs to him to wonder what’s in the crates. The cops are talking loudly enough that he risks pulling one of his katanas and uses it to pry the nearest crate open.

It’s like Christmas has come early. The crate is full of weapons. Lovely, shiny handguns, and big, heavy assault rifles. He picks up one of the handguns, trying its weight in his gloved hand. It’s got good heft to it. A new kink, fighting baddies with Spider-Man, and now a brand new sidearm? Today couldn’t get better if it tried.

Wade pries open another crate, predictably enough containing ammo clips, loads the gun and sticks it down the back of his sopping wet pants. Then, forgetting all about hiding, he stands up and calls, ‘Hey, Spidey! And cops! These guys weren’t just smuggling people, they were smuggling weapons too! You might wanna step carefully back here, though. I just took a piss on the floor.’

Everyone stares at him for a moment. Then five guns are drawn on him, and he puts up his hands. ‘Aw, come on! Help me out here, Spidey?’

Spider-Man just slaps his palm to his forehead and shakes his head exasperatedly.

_Right about now’s probably a good time to get the fuck out of here._

There’s a window on the wall above the crates. ‘Okay. I’ll just be leaving now.’ All the guns go off as Wade leaps onto one of the crates, swings up onto another, grabs onto the window sill and hoists himself outside. One of the bullets nicked his shoulder, but it’ll heal. Deadpool vanishes into the night, leaving only the occasional drop of urine behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was gonna be just a one-shot, but then ideas happened. So, here we go! This is kind of a filler chapter, but it introduces the next kink Wade will explore, so watch out for that, I guess. There's some Spider-Man POV as well. Enjoy!
> 
> This chapter loosely references (without spoilers, I don't think) the 2014 Deadpool annual, which, if you haven't read it, what kind of Spideypool shipper are you? Go find it and read it at once! It is totes adorbs!

Wade stares out the window of his NYC apartment. It made sense to get a place, now that he’s working with Spidey so much, learning to be a hero. He considered living it up in swanky hotels, as it’s not like he couldn’t afford it with all the cash he’s got stashed away in offshore accounts, but in the end he’s never felt at home in places like that, not really. So he found himself a slummy apartment in the Bronx. Bare brick walls, damp and dry rot are more his style.

Down on the street below, an old drunk has just pissed himself. Not in the fun, sexy way, but in the stinky, passed-out-and-drooling way. A scabby stray cat is sniffing around him in mild interest. It’s that nice and quiet part of the evening, after curfew for most kids, but before hard-core crime starts happening.

‘So, what are we doing today then, Brain?’ Wade asks the quiet.

_Same thing we do every day._

**Mayhem!**

_No, we’re helping Spider-Man with—_

**Mayhem!!**

_Yeah, okay, mayhem._

‘Mayhem it is.’

Wade turns his back on the scene. Time to get suited up and head out there. Admittedly, after the other night, mayhem might not be the best way to win Spider-Man’s approval, but what’s life without a little risk? Plus, a good fight might be fun.

* * *

‘You idiot!’ Peter’s fists are clenched at his side. He’s fighting the urge to punch Deadpool in the nose. It’s not going very well. ‘Do you have any idea how close you came to blowing the whole thing?’

‘Hey! How about giving me some credit for once?’ Deadpool yells, talking over him. ‘I didn’t kill anyone! Well, except for that one guy, but he was about to shoot you in the back. Those cops shot at me, and I didn’t fire a single bullet at them!’

Peter shakes his head in disbelief. ‘You’re asking for credit for _not shooting any cops_? Are you insane?’

‘Since you’re asking, yes, clearly!’ Deadpool shoots back. ‘Duh!’

There’s a pause, during which Deadpool begins pacing back and forth, and Peter is conflicted between anger and pity mixed with guilt. After all, he knows Deadpool isn’t all there, and in spite of that he still somehow trusts him to have his back.

Deadpool’s muttering to himself under his breath now. ‘I fucking know! But how am I supposed to—Shut up!—Does it actually matter anyway? Not like this plot is going anywhere . . .’

Peter sighs heavily. ‘Look. Wade.’ The sound of his given name causes Deadpool to stop pacing, and he turns his head to look at Peter. ‘I just need you to understand that you messed up, okay?’

‘Okay! Fine! I’m sorry I alerted the cops to my presence, blah blah blah. I’m not sorry I killed that trafficker, though, cause he was gonna kill you, and I won’t let anyone kill you.’

If Peter wasn’t so annoyed, he’d be slightly moved by this. As it is he feels mostly uncomfortable. It’s not the first time Deadpool exhibits protectiveness over him. ‘Whatever,’ he sighs. ‘Just . . . Try not to do it again?’

‘I’m always trying.’ Deadpool takes a step forward. ‘So, does this mean we’re amazing friends again?’

Peter doesn’t know how to respond to this. He wouldn’t exactly call Deadpool his friend. But the merc’s voice has a hopeful note to it that puts Peter in mind of an over-sized puppy, and so he says, ‘. . . Sure. Yeah.’

He wasn’t expecting Deadpool to hug him, but that’s what happens, so against his better judgment he pats him awkwardly on the back. Deadpool hugs him tighter.

‘Kiss and make up?’ he murmurs in Peter’s ear, and to his own great surprise Peter feels something flutter in the pit of his stomach.

‘No,’ says Peter softly.

‘Aww, come on!’ Deadpool’s embrace tightens further.

‘I said, no!’ Peter’s anger flares up without warning, and before he has time to register what he’s doing, the movement his fist was preparing for earlier just kind of happens, and he punches Deadpool square in the jaw, sending him sprawling.

‘Ooh, good one!’ Deadpool pants, sitting up. ‘Do that again?’

Realising he just gave Deadpool exactly what he wanted, Peter feels his face heat up, and he’s grateful for his mask, not for the first time. He tries for aloofness. ‘Just get up. We’ve got work to do.’

‘I love it when you take charge, baby boy,’ Deadpool purrs and gets to his feet. ‘So, what’s the plan? Any Spidey-senses tingling?’

Peter rolls his eyes. ‘That’s not really how it works. But, this is New York City. We head off in a random direction, and sooner or later someone will shout for help.’

Deadpool puts a hand on his shoulder, and Peter thinks better of shrugging it off. ‘Well, what are we waiting for, then? We’ve got crime to fight!’ says Deadpool cheerfully.

* * *

  **But, this isn’t mayhem!**

‘What do you mean? This is an awesome fight!’ Wade cries happily, beating a mugger over the head with the flat of his sword. The man drops like a tonne of bricks. His partner is running in the opposite direction. He’s dropped his knife. Fucking amateur.

 _The traffickers were more fun,_ his brain informs him matter-of-factly, while Spider-Man leaps after the other mugger.

‘Yeah, but get a load of Spidey’s ass!’

‘I’ll thank you,’ says Spider-Man, shooting a web at the escaping mugger, tripping him up, ‘not to comment on my anatomy to . . . whomever it is you talk to.’

_Note to selves: do not talk about Spidey’s ass out loud when he can hear._

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ Wade grins. ‘Hey, you okay webbing these guys up on your own, Spider-Man? Gotta take a leak.’

Spider-Man makes a non-committal noise as he shoots another web to cover the mugger’s babbling mouth; something about ‘please don’t kill me I’ve never done this before’.

_As if we’d waste a bullet on the likes of them._

**Gotta be honest, though. Kinda jealous that Spidey isn’t shooting great loads of white stuff at us.**

Wade chuckles as he pisses up against a nearby dumpster. He’s been holding it in again, and it comes in a hard, yellow stream, but the holding wasn’t as much fun as last time. Mostly he was just starting to feel annoyed. Of course, if Spider-Man were less busy tying up criminals he’d probably be upset with him for, like, littering or something.

_Public urination?_

**Indecent exposure.**

‘Whatever. Not like anyone would notice. Like pissing in the sea.’ He tucks himself back inside his pants and turns around to find the criminals all webbed up and hanging from a lamp post. ‘Where next, Spidey baby?’

Spider-Man scratches the back of his neck and looks up at the barely visible night sky. ‘I think maybe we should call it a night. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’

‘Doing what?’ Wade takes a couple of steps closer, head cocked to one side.

‘Nothing important.’ Spidey shakes his head. ‘Hate to say it, Wade, but you did pretty good tonight.’

Wade blinks. A warm feeling seems to spread from somewhere in the region of his solar plexus, via his chest and stomach and out into every limb. A warmth that has nothing to do with, say, grave injuries or cancer.

**He praised us! Did he praise us? He did, didn’t he? He praised us! We did good!**

‘I . . . It was no big deal.’

_Yeah, it was, it was a huge deal. Take a compliment like a man, Wilson!_

’Shut up!’ Wade mutters. Then he clears his throat. ‘I mean, yeah, thanks. Hey, we should get tacos! Or, or something else, but, like food!’

Spider-Man shifts slightly, and once again Wade wishes he could see his face so he could guess at what he’s thinking.

_In the comics, the mask has facial expressions._

**This isn’t the comics, though.**

_Man, I don’t know what this is._

‘I dunno, Deadpool. Maybe some other time. I’m kind of beat.’

Wade tries not to let his disappointment register in his voice. ‘Okay, yeah. Some other time.’ He checks his weapons absentmindedly, making sure they’re all secured and where they’re supposed to be. With slightly exaggerated cheer he says, ’Guess I’ll see you soon, my amazing friend!’ Then he sets off out of the alley at a trot.

Spider-Man’s voice follows after a slight delay. ’See ya.’

* * *

Heading home in the wee hours of the morning (once he’s sure Deadpool has done the same and isn’t following, because he still doesn’t trust him with his secret identity), Peter wonders vaguely if there will come a day when he and Wade Wilson won’t be at odds with one another. He’s agreed to help him, agreed to let him join him on his nightly patrols, and for the life of him he’s been unable to figure out why he agreed in the first place. He talks to himself, his incessant flirting makes Peter deeply uncomfortable, and he needs to be told not to kill people. That’s not exactly hero material.

Deadpool is dangerous. Peter knows that. He’s unpredictable and a complete liability. There are several (really good and compelling) reasons why no one in the superhero community will work with him. For all that, though, he seems earnest, like he really wants to be a hero, even if it’s for the wrong reasons (and at this point Peter isn’t sure they actually are the wrong reasons—after all, does it really matter why you do good as long as you do it?), and Peter is unable to turn his back on that.

Not to mention his efforts in helping Peter fight the Chameleon last year. How messed up is it that Deadpool was the only one Peter could really trust then? The only one who could help . . .

He shakes the thought, swinging from one building to the next. This arrangement is working. That’s the only thing that matters. Wade didn’t even mortally wound anyone tonight. As much as he shouldn’t deserve credit for that, he kind of still does. He’s doing a good job. He’s learning. In the end, isn’t that all Peter can ask?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade is bored and decides to spend the day wandering around NYC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a (poorly) attempted (and obviously failed) suicide.

**Spider-Man doesn’t like us.**

_He didn’t want tacos._

**Exactly. Who doesn’t want tacos? He hates us, just like everybody else does.**

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Wade groans, ‘will you quit it with the angsty emo bullshit already? It doesn’t matter! I don’t expect him to like me.’

The chair Wade is sitting in was salvaged from a junkyard, one of the few pieces of furniture in his apartment. It’s full of mystery stains, and all the febreeze in the world couldn’t make it not smell like ass, but it’s comfortable enough. Less so when his mind refuses to leave him alone, though.

_Face it Wilson. No matter how much we want to be a hero, no one will ever accept us as one._

Wade sighs exasperatedly. ‘Seriously, do I have to blow my own brains out to get some peace and quiet around here?’

**Probably.**

‘Fine!’ Wade stands up from his chair abruptly and stalks over to his weapons locker, next to the mattress he (sometimes) sleeps on. He pulls out the shiny new handgun he lifted from that crate in the trafficking ring’s warehouse, releases the safety, and presses the barrel to the underside of his chin.

_Really? We’re actually doing this?_

‘Half an hour of blissful silence while my brain grows back? Worth it.’ He pulls the trigger.

* * *

His first conscious thought is that it’s going to be a total bitch to clean the brain matter off the ceiling. The second is that the soreness in his jaw where the bone is resetting feels kind of good. The third is the realisation that it’s light outside, which means he’s been out for a couple of hours. The equivalent of a good night’s sleep for him. He feels strangely rejuvenated as he sits up from where he fell on the floor.

Wade feels the back of his head. It’s a little squishy still, but otherwise healed. He gets to his feet with a groan and a stretch and walks to the bathroom. He glances at himself in the grimy mirror, just long enough to see that his jaw and neck are splattered with dried blood. A shower, then.

He listens while he gets undressed, listens to his mind. It’s quiet. Wade opens the cabinet above the sink, more to not have to see his own reflection than anything else. He finds a rusted razor blade on a shelf inside.

‘Is it still self-harm if you don’t actually take any harm from it?’ he wonders out loud, picking up the razor blade. There’s no reply. ‘So, my brain’s giving me the silent treatment, is that it?’ He cuts a gash across his chest with the razor and watches it heal over flawlessly, leaving the same scarred and blotchy skin behind. It seems like an oxymoron that his healing factor can heal any new wound he gets without leaving a mark, but can’t put his skin back the way it used to be.

Wade gets in the shower. The water shifts between boiling and freezing. Old shitty pipes in an old shitty building. Still, the changes in temperature are oddly stimulating. He cleans off the blood and grime, until the water pooling in the bottom of the tub is rust coloured and opaque.

With no one to talk to and no interruptions, Wade’s mind wanders and eventually ends up in the only logical place: thinking about Spider-Man. Wade has seen the lower part of his face exposed, so he knows him to have fair skin and pink, soft-looking lips. He’s even felt that smooth skin under his fingertips, when he changed their costumes around last year. It’s more than enough to work with, and he takes himself in hand.

It’s been a while, so it doesn’t take very long, not when he’s imagining Spidey’s pink lips on his body, and he comes with a gasp.

**Fuck yeah, Spidey, suck my hard cock, bitch!**

‘Knew it was too good to be true,’ Wade mutters, cleaning the cum off his hand in the shower stream. ‘And don’t talk about Spider-Man that way, okay? He’s nobody’s bitch.’

_Dat ass, though._

**Dat ass!**

‘Dat ass,’ Wade agrees wistfully.

He turns off the water and gets out of the shower. If he stays in his apartment all day he’ll just end up blowing his own brains out again, in all its futility, so he dresses in civvies—jeans and a Captain America hoodie to cover as much of his face as possible without his mask—and steps outside into the brisk, autumnal New York morning. Breakfast is definitely the way to go. Preferably pancakes.

* * *

_So, we get off on violence, we get off on the adrenaline high of a good fight. That’s old news. But pain?_

**Dude, pain sucks!**

‘Hey, don’t ask me to explain it,’ Wade mutters to himself as he strolls through the streets of Manhattan. ‘I’m not a shrink.’ A few people look at him curiously. (Probably tourists—real New Yorkers are damn near pathological about minding their own business.) In this day and age of bluetooth, you’d think people would be used to other people seemingly talking to themselves.

_A need to feel, perhaps? A way to battle the boring numbness and repetitiveness of invulnerability._

**We’re not invulnerable, doofus, we just heal real fast.**

Wade stops in front of a news stand. The Bugle has a way too good picture of Spider-Man on the front page, under some headline about masked vigilantes and how they’re bad for New York.

_But giving ourselves pain isn’t really enough, is it? Logical next step: wanting someone else to give us pain. Hence goading Spider-Man into that punch last night._

He picks up the paper and scans the front page without really reading. ’A gamble. Either I’d have gotten that kiss, which would have been awesome, or he would have punched me, which, also pretty awesome.’ Wade sighs and puts the paper back, resuming his aimless ramble. ‘Man, I’d like to spar with him . . . If you know what I mean.’

**Ooh, we should do that next time we see him!**

_It’s better if it’s natural, though. If we piss him off first so he doesn’t hold back._

‘He’ll always hold back. Hero, remember?’

He stops at a hotdog stand. It hasn’t been long since breakfast, but then again, hotdogs. No other reason needed, really. Setting off again he munches the hotdog happily. Nothing like meat in his mouth to cheer him up.

**So, if we’re into pain . . . Does that mean when we get turned on after a fight, it’s really the pain that turns us on?**

_Fighting turns us on whether we get injured or not._

**True enough.**

Wade ignores his boxes and instead focuses on savouring the taste of cheap yellow mustard. The mustard’s his favourite part. If he adds enough it makes his nose tingle.

He takes the subway. Not because he wants to go anywhere in particular, but because it feels like the thing to do. Days are boring. Days usually involve watching TV, but his new place doesn’t have one yet.

‘Maybe I should buy a TV.’

**Buy a TV? You mean, spend money on one? Why?**

_Because heroes don’t steal. Duh. Heroes pay for stuff._

**Seems like a waste of money . . .**

Wade’s thoughts are interrupted when he hears a scuffle towards the back of a subway car. Three tall, burly teenage boys are surrounding a third, smaller one. One of them shoves the kid backwards into a seat while another cracks his knuckles menacingly at him. By the looks of them, they should all be in high school. Cutting class, no doubt.

Wade stands up and saunters over to the group, listening in on their conversation.

‘You either pay up or we take it out in blood, shrimp!’ the closest one growls.

‘B-but,’ the smaller kid stutters, ‘I haven’t got any money! Y-you took it all last week, and I won’t get any more until—’

‘Shut up!’ the one who shoved him snaps, and lands a punch in the kid’s stomach. The victim lets out an ‘Oof!’ as the air is knocked out of him, and screws up his eyes, a few tears streaming down his cheeks. He swats them away with a small, brown hand.

‘Aww, widdle baby!’ the third of his tormentors taunts.

‘Hey!’ says Wade cheerfully, clapping his hand down on the shoulder of the closest bully. ‘Just a suggestion, but I really think you guys should leave the kid alone.’

‘Oh yeah?’ The largest of the bullies squares his shoulders. ‘And who’s gonna make us?’

‘I am!’ says Wade, smiling.

‘You and whose army?’ one of the others asks.

Wade drops his hood. Two of the bullies recoil in horror as his bald, scarred head is revealed, but the third, the largest, stands his ground.

‘Motherfucker!’ he exclaims. ‘Did you get hit by the ugly train, or what?’

‘Oh,’ says Wade, unfazed, ‘you wanna know how I got like this? Let me show you!’ He reaches down the back of his jeans and pulls out his handgun. Without blinking, he releases the safety and presses the barrel to the bully’s forehead.

The change is instantaneous. Every hint of bravado vanishes from his face. His blue eyes go wide and scared, and he starts trembling. ‘No! God, please, no, I don’t wanna die!’

‘Apologise,’ says Wade calmly.

‘All right! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me!’ the boy sobs, real tears streaming down his face. Judging by the smell, he’s already shit himself.

The subway train slows, pulling into a station. Wade lifts his gun and says, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ As the bullies run off the train like bats out of hell, Wade calmly puts the safety back on and returns the gun to its make-shift holster. The subway doors close and the train starts moving again, and Wade looks down at the kid on the floor.

The boy looks up at him with wide chocolate eyes. He looks scared.

‘Don’t worry. I wasn’t really gonna shoot him,’ says Wade, pulling his hood back up and returning his face to shadow. ‘I don’t kill kids, even if they deserve it. That’s just not me.’

He turns away and starts walking back towards his seat. By the looks of the handful of passengers who witnessed the scene, though, he should probably get off at the first opportunity, before someone thinks to call the cops.

‘Hey,’ says a quavery voice behind him. ‘H-hey, mister!’

Wade stops and turns his head to look at the kid, who’s now picked himself up off the floor and is dusting himself off.

‘Th-thanks,’ the kid stutters, and a blush creeps into his cheeks.

Wade is so surprised by this it takes him a moment to find his voice. Once he does, he says, ‘No problem, kid. You, uh . . . You stay in school, okay?’

The train pulls into the next station, and Wade gets off quickly, disappearing into the crowd of commuters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's becoming increasingly clear that I know absolutely nothing about guns, and that I've never been closer to New York City than Newark airport.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this story has already passed 100 kudos and 2000 hits! This is my most popular story ever in, like, almost fifteen years of writing fanfiction! Thank you guys soooo much, it means the world to me that so many people like this, and I just love reading your comments as well, they're all awesome! I love hearing what you all think, so keep 'em coming! You guys are all the best! <3

Spider-Man is reading from his phone. ‘Eye witnesses report a heavily scarred man in a Captain America sweatshirt threatening three teenagers with a gun on the subway near Central Park North around noon today. “They were bullying a fourth kid,” one witness told reporters, “so I didn’t really feel too bad for them. It’s not like anyone actually got shot.” Allegedly, the unidentified man scared the three teens away before vanishing himself. “He was pretty gruesome looking,” one blogger reports. “He wouldn’t have needed to use the gun, as just his face seemed enough to scare the pants off the boys.” NYPD spokespersons declined to comment on whether New York’s finest are following up on the incident.’ He looks up at Wade. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?’

They’re standing on a rooftop, because where else can an arachnid superhuman and a heavily armed mercenary meet without attracting attention? It’s a little past midnight, and Wade fidgets uncomfortably under Spider-Man’s gaze.

_Gruesome looking, huh? Well, at least they’re honest._

**Someone’s on our side. Didn’t feel bad for the bullies. We did a good thing!**

_Sure about that? Spidey doesn’t sound too happy, does he?_

‘Shut up!’ Wade growls under his breath.

‘Excuse me?’ says Spider-Man in a casual tone.

Wade scratches his cheek through his mask absentmindedly. ’Nothing. Um . . . Helluva thing to do, threatening kids with a gun, huh?’

Spider-Man crosses his arms, hip jutting out at an angle. He looks strict, and more than a little bit hot. ‘Deadpool,’ he says slowly, in the kind of voice a parent might use with a misbehaving child. That tone conveys it all.

_Don’t say anything! Don’t give yourself away! Spider-Man will be pissed._

‘They were beating on a little guy, pressing him for money!’ Wade whines.

**Idiot.**

_I wash my hands of him._

Spider-Man sighs heavily. ‘That’s no reason to pull a gun on them.’

‘I wasn’t gonna shoot!’ Wade argues. ‘I just wanted to put the fear of Bob into those little fucks. They were bad guys. Today it’s shaking down a kid for his lunch money, tomorrow it’s robbing banks! But I don’t kill kids. Scout’s honour! I would never have pulled that trigger, you gotta believe me, baby boy!’

Spider-Man uncrosses his arms and relaxes his stance a little bit. ‘You know, SHIELD and all those guys will be able to put two and two together just as well as I did, and they’re not gonna believe you were never gonna shoot. As far as they’re concerned, you’re a ruthless killer.’

**They kind of have a point. We are a ruthless killer.**

‘Which is why,’ Spider-Man continues, ‘you can’t do crap like that. People like us, we have to be above reproach, especially those of us who haven’t got multi-billion-dollar corporations or government organisations at our backs.’

Wade’s shoulders slump slightly. ’Are . . . Are you mad?’ he asks in a voice so small it surprises even himself.

_For fuck’s sake. If you had a tail it would be between your legs. Man up!_

Spider-Man heaves another sigh. ‘I should be, shouldn’t I?’ he mutters, more to himself than to Wade, it seems. ‘But honestly, I get why you did it. I wouldn’t have done it like that, but I couldn’t have just stood by and watched a kid being bullied either, so . . . No, I’m not mad.’

‘Really?’ Wade asks hopefully.

_And now that non-existent tail is wagging. You’re like an overgrown puppy. Get a hold of yourself, Wilson!_

**How come we sometimes talk about ourselves in first person plural and sometimes in second person singular? When we’re not talking out loud in first person singular, of course.**

Wade shakes his head slightly, trying to pull his focus away from the boxes and place it on Spider-Man.

‘Really,’ he’s saying. ‘But if we’re gonna keep this thing up, you gotta promise me not to do something like that again, okay?’

Wade nods wildly, grinning. ‘Okay! Sure, absolutely! No scaring non-criminals with guns in broad daylight. I can do that.’

Spider-Man gives a curt nod, then stills. ‘Something’s going on. About three blocks that way.’ He points, walking to the edge of the roof. He shoots a sling of web at the next building over, preparing to jump.

‘Give me a ride?’ Wade asks hopefully, but Spider-Man shakes his head.

‘I’m gonna find out what’s going on. Head straight East. I’ll wait for you.’ Then he leaps.

Wade wastes no time running the three blocks, checking his weapons as he goes.

**Spider-Man isn’t mad at us! How is that not the most amazing thing you’ve ever heard?**

‘It is pretty awesome,’ Wade admits. ‘Maybe he likes me after all?’

He rounds a corner and Spider-Man drops down in front of him.

‘Armed robbery,’ he says.

‘Hello to you too, sweetie-pie,’ says Wade.

Spider-Man just continues like Wade hadn’t said anything. ‘Three guys with guns holding up a twenty-four hour store. There are six civilians inside, including the clerk. One bad guy has the customers up against the back wall with his gun on them. The other two are by the register. There’s a ventilation shaft out into an alley. I’ll sneak in through there and incapacitate the one threatening the customers. You go in the front door and distract the other two. The safety of the clerk is your priority, got it? And no killing!’

‘You are so hot right now,’ Wade leers. ‘Okay, go in, distract the bad guys, look out for the clerk and don’t kill anyone. That about cover it?’

Spider-Man nods.

‘I love being the Robin to your Batman, Spidey!’

‘My what?’

_Dude, wrong universe!_

‘Nothing.’

Spider-Man gives a slight shake of the head, like he’s trying to clear it. ‘After I go in, give me ten seconds and then enter the store, okay?’

‘Gotcha.’

Spider-Man crawls up a wall and vanishes. Wade dutifully counts to ten, and then strolls towards the entrance to the store at a leisurely pace. He opens the door with the jingle of a bell. It’s easy to spot the bad guys. They’re all carrying guns and all wearing ski-masks. Two of them are over by the register, where a young man in his early twenties is filling up a bag with cash at gunpoint. Wade can just about see the third guy at the back, standing in front of a line of civilians who are stood with their backs against the shelves, four men and one woman.

‘Hey!’ says a sharp voice from over by the register. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘Just a customer,’ says Wade innocently, without looking up. He pretends to browse the magazine rack, picking up one that has an oiled up, tanned and muscled man in very little clothing on the front. ‘Man, when I was a kid magazines only objectified women,’ he tuts. ‘What is the world coming to, huh? One minute you think it’s safe to be a creepy, sexist swine, and all of a sudden folks with vaginas demand equality. What’s that all about?’

He hears the click of a hammer being pulled back and looks up. One of the bad guys has his gun trained on him. It’s a semi-automatic pistol. The magazine will hold ten 9mm rounds. The gun pointed at the clerk is the same. Twenty potential bullet wounds.

‘Hey, now!’ Wade says cheerfully, putting the magazine back on the rack and raising his hands in a placating gesture. ‘Is that any way to treat a potential customer? Seems I may have to speak to the manager.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Wade spots something red and blue dropping from the ceiling, and he takes a stride towards the register. A loud bang echoes through the store as the guy with his gun on Wade fires. The bullet hits Wade straight in his black and red clad chest, and he feels it rip through his lung, fracturing a rib on the way.

**Bastard!**

_We’re gonna have to have the suit fixed. Again._

‘Ow!’ Wade croaks and coughs. ‘What the fuck, dude, was that really necessary?’ He touches a gloved hand to his chest and it comes away wet with blood.

‘What the hell?’ The man fires two more rounds at him. They both hit home, one in his shoulder and the other in his abdomen. It hurts a bitch, but that doesn’t matter right now. From the corner of his eye, Wade registers that Spider-Man’s taken out the third guy. Good. That means he can have fun now.

Wade pulls his own gun and aims it at the second man, who’s still covering the clerk. Stupidly, the man takes his gun off his hostage and points it at Wade instead, just like Wade had hoped. The clerk ducks down behind the counter. Smart kid. Probably not his first armed robbery. Grinning, Wade aims for the bad guy’s leg and fires. He howls with pain and actually drops his weapon.

‘Seriously? One bullet and you’re down? Pussy.’ Wade shakes his head.

The last man standing swears loudly, and empties his clip into Wade, who has to take a few steps back with the sheer force of the bullets. The last one hits his right forearm, and Wade loses the grip on his gun as the muscle spasms. It’s okay, though. Spider-Man’s here to save him.

Sneaking up behind him, Spidey taps the guy’s shoulder and clears his throat. The man spins around, pointing his empty gun at the superhero, as though it will do him any good at all.

‘You know, you really shouldn’t have shot my friend,’ says Spider-Man conversationally. Then he somersaults backwards, aiming a swift kick at the bad guy’s stomach that sends him sprawling.

While Spider-Man webs the two criminals up with their fallen comrade in the back of the store, Wade’s mind is an endless chorus of, **He called us his friend! He called us his friend! He called us his friend!**

He picks his gun up off the floor and holsters it. The movement causes him to wince. His gunshot wounds are already healing, but they’re still sore as hell. He watches Spider-Man check on the civilians before he comes over to where Wade stands by the door.

‘Everyone else is okay,’ Spider-Man informs him. ‘No injuries or anything. The only one who got shot is you.’

Wade grins. ‘Glad to hear it!’ He coughs, the metallic taste of blood blooming on his tongue.

‘You okay?’ If Wade didn’t know better he’d almost mistake the tone of Spider-Man’s voice for concern.

Wade waves a hand dismissively. ‘Fine, fine! I’ll be all healed up in no time.’

Spider-Man nods. ‘We should get out of here. The police should be here soon.’

They leave the store, cheers and applause following them, and Spider-Man pauses on the sidewalk, looking around as if to assess his surroundings.

‘A quick escape would be best,’ he says after a moment, and without warning he scoops Wade up in a fireman’s lift and, shooting a string of web onto a lamp post, starts swinging them out of there.

_What are we, Lois Lane?_

‘Why, Mister Spidey,’ says Wade in a sing-song falsetto and fake southern accent, ‘I do believe you mean to sweep me off my feet!’ To his immense surprise and gratification, Spider-Man chuckles softly at this.

They land on a rooftop not far from where they began, and Spider-Man sets Wade gently down on his feet.

‘Spider-Man, my hero!’ Wade says happily, mock swooning.

‘You sure you’re okay?’ Spider-Man asks, and there’s no mistaking it now, that’s definitely concern in his voice.

‘Hey, I injure myself worse than this for fun,’ says Wade with a grin. ‘This is nothing. See?’ He pulls up his sleeve, showing Spider-Man where the last bullet hit. There’s no sign there was ever a bullet wound there. ‘All healed!’

‘Well, that’s good,’ says Spider-Man. ‘You did really well today, Wade. You helped resolve the situation without killing anyone, and without putting innocents at unnecessary risk. You did good.’

Wade grins from ear to ear. That warm feeling is back, spreading through his body, from his chest to the tips of his fingers and toes. Without giving it much thought, he pulls his mask up to his nose and kisses Spider-Man’s masked cheek. ‘Thank you,’ he whispers, and then he steps back and laughs happily, because Spider-Man called him his friend tonight, and he said he did well, and right now everything’s pretty perfect. In fact, only one thing could make this moment better.

‘Tacos!’ Wade exclaims. ‘Come on, Spidey-widey, the night is still young!’

Spider-Man shakes his head and gives another soft chuckle, like earlier. ‘Sure, Wade,’ he says. ‘Let’s have tacos.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read up on handguns!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which beer tastes good with pizza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Peter's point of view! Also, it contains mentions of attempted rape, not related to either of our boys, so unless you are really, really super-sensitive it shouldn't bother you, just mentioning it here just in case. 
> 
> Thanks so much for all the support I've been getting! I love you all! <3

Peter stuffs his coursework into his bag as his fellow students file out of the auditorium. He shoulders his bag and is about to follow them when his Physics professor speaks.

‘Parker?’ She looks at him over the top of her glasses. ‘Could I see you for a moment?’

Peter walks over to her desk, where she’s packing books and papers into her briefcase.

‘Yes, professor?’

‘You’re very gifted,’ she says, stopping to study his face, ‘but I can’t quite shake the feeling that you’re not really applying yourself. If you worked a little harder, studied a little more, you’d outshine everyone else easily.’

Peter feels himself blush. ‘Sorry, professor,’ he mutters. ‘I really do my best, but I have . . . a lot of responsibilities.’

‘I realise that. It’s just sad to see such a talented young man not reach his full potential. Know what I mean?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

She gives him a penetrating stare. ‘All right. I won’t keep you. See you on Friday.’

‘Yeah. See ya.’

Peter trots out of the auditorium with a sigh. She’s right, of course, but between his job and being Spider-Man, he has limited time to study, and on top of that he now has to babysit a hyperactive, schizoid, former mercenary wannabe hero. It’s a wonder he even makes it to lectures anymore. College is hard enough even when you’re _not_ juggling a secret identity.

Deadpool’s getting so much better, though, Peter muses as he leaves the building. The past couple of weeks have passed almost without incident, and he’s helped make Peter’s patrols much more efficient. Peter’s gotten used to having him around, and where he used to feel uncomfortable with Deadpool’s flirting, the banter now flows freely.

He’s done with his lectures for today, so he heads home to his apartment. Peter wishes he had time to just chill out for a couple of hours, but he’s got photos to sort through and lecture notes to read, and there’s that math formula he still can’t seem to wrap his head around, and then he’s got work before he’s meeting Deadpool for patrol. Oh, and he should call Aunt May, cause he hasn’t talked to her in a while and she’s probably fretting. He sighs, thinking, not for the first time, that he’s stretching himself too thin. At least he’s only got two semesters left in college. Of course, after that comes graduate school. No rest for the wicked.

* * *

Deadpool flips one of the assailants over on his back and steps on his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. Another comes at him from the side and, without really looking, Deadpool pulls one of his sidearms and points it at the man. ‘You sure you wanna do that?’

Peter is busy with his own two guys. He knocks one out with a well-aimed kick to the head, turning to focus on the other one, a tall blonde man in a tan leather jacket. He seems to be the one in charge, if there is such a thing in a group of guys trying to rape a young woman.

He heard her scream just as he and Deadpool were about to call it a night. They found her badly beaten on the ground in an alley, with one of her assailants standing over her with his belt undone (the blonde one Peter’s currently fighting) and the other three standing around watching gleefully. This kind of thing makes Peter feel angry in a way that few other crimes can. It filled him with such an immense fury that he almost wanted to tell Wade to screw all his previous admonitions and murder the crap out of these guys. Judging by Deadpool’s furious shout as he jumped into the fray he’s scarcely less angry than Peter, though he has so far refrained from actually killing anyone, for which Peter knows he will in hindsight be grateful.

Now he leaps up onto a nearby wall in order to flank his opponent. Blondie isn’t fast enough, and Peter lands a kick to his side, knocking him off balance. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Deadpool pull a second gun, pointing it at the guy on the ground.

‘Either of you try to run away, I will shoot you,’ the merc says softly.

Peter aims a punch at Blondie’s shoulder, causing him to cry out, and then he shoots a large web that wraps itself around his body. Blondie falls over and the fight is essentially over.

Deadpool brings his two guys over to Peter at gunpoint, and Peter webs them all together. He’s too angry for quips or one-liners. Instead he leans in close to Blondie’s face and hisses, ‘Next time you decide to assault a defenceless person, remember that this is my town, and no one gets sexually assaulted in my town if I can help it!’

He webs them all to a nearby dumpster before walking over to the girl, who’s on the ground with her back against a wall, sobbing. She’s got long, brown hair and olive skin. Her knee-long skirt is torn and bruises are forming on her face and her bare arms.

‘Hey,’ says Peter softly, crouching down before her. ‘The police are on their way, okay? You’re safe now.’

‘Yeah,’ says Wade, and his tone is so kind and gentle that Peter looks up at him in surprise, ‘those guys can’t hurt you now. Spidey here’s got them all tied up, see? Everything will be just fine.’

The girl looks up at them with wide green eyes. She chokes back a sob and takes a deep breath. ‘Th-thank you, Spider-Man,’ she says in a shaky voice. ‘And . . . And you.’ Her eyes fall upon Deadpool’s white lenses. ‘Thank you. If you guys hadn’t arrived when you did . . .’ She shudders. ‘You saved my life. Or at least my . . . My . . .’ She swallows and looks away again.

Peter can hear the approaching sound of sirens growing louder and gets to his feet again. He looks over at Wade, whose eyes are still on the girl on the ground. ‘Cops are coming,’ Peter says softly. ‘Rooftop, two blocks south?’

Deadpool nods, finally looking away. ‘Yeah, okay. See you there.’ Then he slinks into the shadows, just as the first police car pulls up to the kerb.

* * *

‘Is she okay?’ are the first words out of Deadpool’s infamous mouth when Peter lands on the agreed-upon rooftop.

‘She’s pretty shaken, but she should be fine eventually. At least we managed to stop them from . . . you know.’

‘Yeah,’ says Wade darkly. ‘Fucking bastard motherfuckers.’

Peter shakes his head. ‘If I could ever think killing someone was justified . . .’ He trails off. Glancing at Wade, he can tell that he’s smiling under his mask.

‘I know, right?’ he says, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at Peter. ‘Man, didn’t think I could love this guy any more than I already did.’

Peter looks away again, blushing under his mask. As much as he’s always considered himself straight, he can’t pretend that he doesn’t feel flattered by Deadpool’s repeated advances and words of affection. He clears his throat. ‘That doesn’t mean I give you leave to kill them,’ he says, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice.

‘Of course not,’ says Deadpool at once. ‘No un-aliving criminals, even if they are worthless, rapist scum. Hope to die.’ He draws an X across his chest.

Peter nods. He feels suddenly exhausted, the adrenaline of the fight wearing off. He has an early lecture tomorrow, and he groans internally, realising how little sleep he’ll be getting. Again.

‘You okay, Spidey?’ says Deadpool, bringing Peter out of his thoughts.

‘Yeah, fine.’

Deadpool regards him through his white lenses for a few moments. ‘You know what I think you need?’

Knowing Deadpool, no doubt it’s something lewd, but Peter still says, ‘What?’

‘You need a night off!’

Peter blinks. ‘Huh?’ That’s not what he was expecting at all.

Wade keeps talking. ‘It’ll be awesome! Tomorrow night. My place. We can eat pizza and watch a movie or something. You bring the beer. You are old enough to drink, right? Here.’ He produces a sharpie out of nowhere and grabs Peter’s arm, pulling up his sleeve. ‘This is my address,’ he says, scribbling onto Peter’s forearm. ‘Apartment 306. Eight PM. Be there or be pear-shaped or whatever.’ He lets go of Peter’s arm, and Peter’s sure he’s grinning now.

He opens his mouth to argue, to tell Deadpool that he has to patrol, that it’s his responsibility to keep this city safe, but instead he says, ‘Okay. I guess I’ll see you then.’

Wade laughs. ’You bet your sweet ass you will!’

* * *

Peter lands on the fire escape outside Wade’s window. Looking inside, he can see Wade sitting on a moth-eaten couch. He’s wearing his Deadpool mask, but other than that he’s in civilian clothing, jeans and a blue long-sleeve t-shirt with a vague, washed out design on it. Peter taps on the glass with his gloved knuckle and Wade looks up.

The merc strolls over and opens the window. ‘Hey, baby boy! Full Spidey get-up, huh? I can dig it.’

Peter crawls in through the window and holds up the sixer of lager he’s been carrying.

‘Sweet!’ Wade takes it from him and walks over to the coffee table, where three pizza boxes are stacked. ‘Have a seat! I have a couch now, it’s new. Well, new old. Didn’t know what kind of pizza you liked, so I got some random ones. The top one’s got taco meat and nachos on it!’

He picks up a beer bottle and twists the cap off, handing it to Peter, who sits down on the couch gingerly. It’s actually pretty comfortable, though, and he lets himself relax a little bit.

Wade grabs a beer bottle of his own and pulls his mask up to his nose so he can take a swig. Then he studies Peter for a moment. ‘You know, if you wanna chill out in something other than that spandex, I’ve probably got some clothes you can borrow. Ooh! You could use my Spider-Man pyjamas! How meta would that be?’

Peter stares at the ex-mercenary for a moment. ‘You . . . You have Spider-Man pyjamas?’ Wade nods enthusiastically. ‘You . . . sleep in them?’ Peter asks slowly, feeling mildly creeped out by the idea.

‘Nah, man, I sleep nekkid!’ Wade grins. ‘I just got them cause it was funny.’

‘I think I’m good,’ says Peter, pushing up his own mask to take a sip of his beer. ‘The suit’s actually pretty comfortable.’

Wade shrugs. ‘Suit yourself. Hah! Get it?’ He sets his beer down on the table and picks up two DVD boxes. ‘So, what do you wanna watch? I got Saw and The Little Mermaid.’

Peter laughs, then, unable to stop himself. ‘Those are our options?’

‘I know, right? They’re both so good, it’s hard to choose!’

Thinking that torture porn probably isn’t going to help him relax, Peter says, ‘In that case, I think The Little Mermaid.’

‘Good choice!’ says Wade happily. He crouches before the TV-set and pops the disc in the DVD-player. ‘You know, I identify with Ariel so much . . . I mean, she just wants to be part of their world! You know?’ He picks up the remote and sits next to Peter on the couch. ‘Like the TV? It’s new, too! I paid for it and everything!’

While Wade flicks through the menus, Peter looks around the apartment. It’s pretty grim, really, all bare brick and very little furniture. There’s a definite draft running through the place, chilling it, and everything smells of damp and dust. But the lamp behind the couch gives off a warm glow, and there’s a soft, thick shag rug on the floor beneath their feet. On the walls above the mattress in the corner Wade has put up posters—a collection of bands, movies and superheroes—and umpteen pillows, two duvets and several blankets make up a kind of fort there, with a banged up old laptop in the centre.

‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ says Peter as Wade presses play.

Wade chuckles. ‘Isn’t it? Building’s owned by some slum lord. Haven’t paid rent since I moved in. I mean, guy’s a criminal, right? After the third time he sent his goons round to collect and I sent them back with no teeth, they stopped coming. I’ve been trying to make sure he doesn’t give the other tenants too much of a hard time either. I mean, there are kids in this building, can you believe that?’ He shakes his head. ‘They deserve better lives than this.’

Peter finds himself smiling. Seeing Wade like this, relaxed and drinking beer and just chatting, he almost seems like any other guy. He’s not Deadpool right now. He’s just Wade Wilson. Almost normal, except for the scarred hands and the mask, of course.

‘So, do you always wear your mask around the house?’ Peter asks casually. He immediately regrets it as Wade stiffens slightly.

‘Do you always wear your Spider-Man costume to movie nights?’ Wade asks in return. His tone is light, but there’s a hard edge to his voice.

‘Point taken,’ Peter mumbles. ‘Forget I asked. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.’

Wade seems to relax at that, and then he giggles. ‘Yeah, I don’t get it either, no one’s that fucking nice!’ he says to no one in particular. Then he looks at Peter again. ‘Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. We’ve all got issues about something, right? This is mine. Well, one of mine.’ There’s a pause, during which Ariel fails to appear in her giant clam shell. ‘Anyway, pizza!’ He opens the topmost box, and the smell of cheese, jalapeños and beef wafts out of it, making Peter’s stomach growl. ‘Tuck in, dude.’

They munch on pizza and watch their movie. Wade sings along with all the songs and occasionally goes off on tangents that are completely incomprehensible to Peter (‘Part of your world! Of course we can, we’re owned by Disney now. Probably why it took so long to get my movie greenlit, really . . . I know, the only thing that could make this movie better is if Ryan Reynolds was in it.’), and Peter finds himself relaxing. The beer and the pizza taste good, and the movie leaves him with a definite feeling of nostalgia.

When Wade puts a friendly arm around his shoulder, Peter doesn’t object. Instead he drains his beer bottle and leans back into the couch, smiling.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are complete and utter stars, all of you. You, reading this right now, you're awesome. Utterly ace. Legendary! Just thought you should know that.
> 
> This chapter's a little shorter than the last couple ones have been. Sorry about that. On the plus side (for some of you, anyway), more omorashi! Yay!!

Wade groans and rubs the back of his skull. Getting shot in the head isn’t nearly as much fun when a bad guy does it. For one, the shot that went in through his forehead just above his left eye and straight out the other side didn’t knock him out. It just scrambled his brain and made him feel queasy and disoriented. His brain is already regenerating, but his control of his limbs is less than optimal and, oh yeah, he seems to have lost control of his bladder for a moment, and isn’t that just great?

’Shit, shit, shit!’ Wade all but whimpers, clenching his muscles to shut off the flow as quickly as he’s able.

**I thought we liked pissing ourselves.**

_Yeah, but this isn’t really the best time, is it?_

He shakes his head, turning his focus to where Spider-Man’s fighting bad guy of the day. Or, bad girl, as it happens. She’s fast and talented, he’ll give her that, fighting with a pistol and hand-to-hand, but she’s not fast enough for Spidey, who yoinks the gun from her hand with a well aimed sling of web and has her pinned to the ground a few seconds later. Wade staggers to his feet just as Spider-Man lands a particularly vicious punch to her gut, knocking the breath out of her and leaving him free to web her up before she can regain her momentum.

Wade looks down at her and clicks his tongue. ‘You know, time was I would have made a comment about your boobs right about now,’ he says casually, ‘but you know what? You just don’t deserve my admiration.’

Spider-Man stands up, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. ‘She put up a good fight, though, I’ll give her that. You okay, Deadpool?’

Wade makes a fist experimentally. ‘Yeah, fine. Headshots can incapacitate me for a while, but I always come back. I’m like herpes.’

‘In more ways than one, I’m sure,’ Spider-Man quips. ‘Well, I don’t think there’s much need to stick around. Cops will be here to collect her soon.’

‘Aye aye,’ says Wade and they set off.

‘Hop on my back, it’ll be quicker,’ says Spider-Man as they turn a corner.

**Yay! Spideyback ride!**

Wade touches the area around his crotch gingerly. It’s just a little bit damp, but it’s enough to make him grimace and say, ‘Yeah, you probably won’t want that. A bullet to the brainpan can have a whole bunch of unfortunate side-effects. Temporary blindness, nausea, loss of muscle control . . .’

‘I thought you were already healed?’

‘Yeah, pretty much, but loss of muscle control can lead to . . . accidents.’ He didn’t think he’d feel embarrassed saying it out loud, but now he finds he does. Pissing yourself is a hard thing to admit to when you’re a grown-ass man.

Spider-Man just looks at him for a moment. Then his gaze seems to travel down to where Wade’s suit is stained a slightly darker red. ‘Oh!’ he says as it dawns on him. ‘Um . . . Yeah, I can see how that . . . Hm.’ He falls silent for a few moments.

_. . . And we grossed him out. Just as we were getting to be such good pals._

‘It’s okay,’ Spider-Man says suddenly.

‘I . . . What?’ Wade stares at him in amazement.

Spider-Man shrugs. ‘Hey, urine’s sterile. It is just urine, right?’ Wade nods. ‘Well, then. Hop on. I can clean my suit if need be. Not like I haven’t gotten worse stains on it before.’

Wade does as he’s told. ‘I less-than-three you so hard right now,’ he says, and Spider-Man laughs before shooting a string of web towards a nearby high-rise, and then they’re off, swinging through the streets of New York City.

**Man, this is so giving us a boner!**

_Don’t tell Spidey. He won’t like that._

It does feel kind of good, being pressed up to Spider-Man’s back like this. Wade’s got his legs wrapped around his waist and is holding onto his shoulders, and leaping between the tall buildings like this is a total rush, leaving him breathless. Every time Spidey lets go of a strand of web to shoot another, Wade feels weightless. As Spider-Man makes a particularly long leap, Wade whoops happily.

They land on a roof with a view of Central Park, and Wade climbs off, laughing. Then he feels suddenly self-conscious again, though, and starts tugging at his utility belt, pulling it downwards, as if it will cover the stain.

‘You okay?’ Spider-Man asks him, head cocked to one side.

Wade nods. ‘Yeah. Fine.’ A pause. ‘Sorry.’

Spider-Man shrugs. ‘Not your fault. Blame the woman who shot you in the head.’ He rubs the back of his neck and looks away. ‘I guess it never really occurred to me . . . You know, what your body actually goes through every time you get injured. I keep putting you in the line of fire, and I’ve never thought . . .’ He turns his eyes back on Wade. ‘It actually hurts, doesn’t it?’

Wade shifts uncomfortably. ‘I guess. I mean, my healing factor doesn’t make me impervious to pain, you know? But it’s okay. I’m pretty used to it, I don’t mind much. Some pain can be kind of sexy. Other kinds, not so much. Like growing back your intestines after being gored? Massively unpleasant. There tends to be puking blood involved. Aaaand I’m totally grossing you out, aren’t I? I’m sorry.’

‘No, don’t be!’ says Peter quickly. ‘I’m the one who should apologise. I’ve been letting you take bullets and all sorts, and never thought about the fact that being able to heal doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I’m sorry.’

**He cares! Spider-Man actually gives a shit about us!**

_Of course he cares. He cares about everyone. He’s a hero. That’s what heroes do._

**But _no one_ cares about us. No one’s cared in a long time . . .**

Wade smiles and shakes his head slightly. ‘You really are one of the good guys, aren’t you? Either that or I’m hallucinating again, which to be fair is a definite possibility.’

Spider-Man chuckles. ‘You’re not hallucinating, Wade. At least I don’t think you are. Seriously, though, I’m gonna try harder not to put you in harm’s way unnecessarily, okay? I’ll think of better strategies that don’t rely on your healing factor so much.’

‘You don’t have to do that. I’m fine.’

‘Well, I want to. God knows you’ve experienced enough pain for fifteen lifetimes already.’

_Fuck, he’s so noble. Like, who does he think he’s kidding? Nobody’s that fucking nice!_

**But he’s being nice to _us_! Isn’t that amazing?**

‘I’m gonna hug ya now, Spidey,’ says Wade.

‘Okay,’ Spider-Man replies, and Wade puts his arms around him and pulls him into a tight embrace.

‘Would you be uncomfortable if I squeeze your ass?’ Wade murmurs into Spider-Man’s shoulder.

‘Yup.’

‘Even if it’s just a teeny, tiny squish?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Okay. I respect your boundaries.’

Spider-Man gives a snort of laughter. ‘You do? That’s new.’

‘What can I say? For you, baby boy, I’m willing to turn over a new leaf.’

‘That mean you’ll let go any time soon?’

Wade hugs him a little tighter. ‘No.’

‘. . . I’m not gonna punch you again, Wade.’

With a frustrated sigh, Wade lets go of Spider-Man and pouts at him through his mask. ‘Party pooper.’ He scratches his cheek absently. ‘I guess I should get home and clean the suit . . . Same time tomorrow?’

‘Sure,’ says Spider-Man. ‘See you then.’

* * *

After rinsing it as best he can, Wade drapes his suit over a radiator to dry. Without putting on anything else, he settles into his nest of pillows and blankets, covering himself in warm softness. He doesn’t sleep every night. He doesn’t need to as his healing factor increases his stamina and halts fatigue, and his brain is in a constant state of repeated regeneration anyway, but tonight he’s tired. Which of course means that, try as he might, he simply cannot fall asleep.

**Spiderman was nice to us! He was concerned about our wellbeing!**

_We’ve been over this. Hero, remember? It means nothing._

**It has to mean _something_.**

_All it means is that he doesn’t consider us to be a bad guy._

**See? Improvement! Besides, he wasn’t just nice, he was totally cool about the piss thing.**

‘Shut up!’ Wade growls, covering his ears, which of course does no good at all.

**We should play with that some more . . . On our own, obviously. The pissing thing. Holding it in is haaaaaard, though.**

Wade groans and throws himself onto his back, staring up at the dark ceiling.

**Ooh, idea! We could super-glue our dick shut! That would hold it!**

_That’s a terrible idea. How would we get it open again? Sharp pointy objects near dick equals not fun._

**I thought we liked pain.**

_Sure, but not cutting-our-own-dick-off pain!_

‘Seriously,’ Wade mutters, ‘it’s like my issues have issues. Would you shut up so I can sleep, or do I have to shoot myself in the head again? Cause one bullet to the brain in a night is really one too many, but I will make it two if it means I can get some fucking rest!’

_That’s a little extreme, isn’t it?_

**We don’t like it when we blow our brains out . . . It’s like we disappear, and what if we don’t come back?**

‘What a fucking loss . . .’ Wade grumbles. Then he sighs, too exhausted to go through with his threat. ‘Look, I just wanna sleep, okay? And preferably have sweet, wet dreams of one certain superhuman arachnid. That too much to ask?’

**Mm, dreams of Spider-Man . . .**

_He’s got a pretty mouth. And soft, soft skin._

**Wonder if his dick is bigger or smaller than ours?**

_Wonder what we could do to that dick . . . Or what it could do to us._

Wade whimpers involuntarily and feels his own cock twitch slightly. He lets his hand slide down to his crotch.

_Who would top? Would we fuck his tight hole? Or do we want him to fuck us?_

**Never bottomed before, but if it was Spider-Man . . . Oh, we totally would.**

It’s easy to imagine. Lips, tongue, hands. Bodies pressed together, with their suits as a protective layer covering Wade’s sores and scars. But then, this is a fantasy, so maybe Wade doesn’t have sores or scars? He pictures Spider-Man’s hands on his skin, miraculously smooth and clear again. Now they’re just two people, sharing touch. Lips pressed together, hearts hammering against one another, bodies entwined. Then Spider-Man whispers, ‘You’re so good, Wade. You’re doing so well. Come for me!’ and Wade does, jerking up into his own hand.

He should clean up, he knows that, but the aftermath of his orgasm leaves him blissfully exhausted. Ignoring the boxes, ignoring everything, he lets his eyes fall shut and drifts off to sleep. A few hours later he will wake up cold and sticky and in serious need of a shower, at which point he’ll probably get off again, just cause showers are a good place to do that, but for now wonderful, dreamless sleep awaits him. Tomorrow can wait until tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canonically, it seems like headshots always knock Wade out, but I've seen people walking around with huge metal shrapnel bits sticking out of their heads, fully conscious, so I figured with the right angle and distance, a bullet should be able to pass through Wade's skull without completely knocking him out. 
> 
> Also, I'm pretty sure I stole the term 'spideyback ride' from some other fic, though I have no idea which one now... If it was yours, I apologise. It was just too good a word.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are still the most awesome bunch in the history of ever and I love you all!! <3
> 
> Bringing the angst this chapter. Sorry. :P

Wade pulls his gun and casually points it at the man’s head. He in turn is aiming his pistol at Spider-Man. His hands are shaking, and he’s sweating profusely. Clearly he hadn’t expected to end up in this situation. Hadn’t expected Spider-Man to turn up during his home invasion. However little he expected Spider-Man, though, he expected Deadpool less.

‘Drop. Your. Gun,’ says Wade in a deadly growl, and the man stiffens, turning his head slightly.

‘I . . . I’ll shoot him!’ he says frantically through his balaclava. ‘I-I’ll kill Sp-pider-Man if y-you don’t point that somewhere else!’

Spider-Man moves to kick the gun out of his hand, but in his agitated state the man is alert and his reflexes quick. He turns his eyes back on Spider-Man and grips his gun with both shaking hands. ‘D-don’t move! I’ll shoot! T-tell your friend to put his gun down and let me go, and n-no one gets hurt!’ The look in his eyes is wild.

‘Seriously?’ says Wade. ‘You’re making demands? You’re shitting yourself!’

‘Deadpool,’ says Spider-Man slowly, warningly. His tone softens as he speaks to the man before him. ‘You. Think about this, okay? You shoot me, there is no way you’re getting out of here. I can get my friend to back off, but only if you lower your weapon. So come on. Drop your gun.’

The man seems to hesitate, but then he grips his pistol tighter. ’N-no! I’m not going to jail! You let me go! Let me go or—’

Wade sees the man’s finger tighten on the trigger. Sees the way he steels his shoulders as he prepares to fire. This is a man who’s clearly never killed anyone before, but who’s done a lot of target practice, and he is clearly willing to discharge his weapon now, rather than risk jail. In an instant, Wade realises that this man would rather die than go to prison, and he’s willing to take Spider-Man with him.

Wade only has a split-second to react, and he’ll be damned if this motherfucker gets to shoot his Spidey. He pulls the trigger, beating the other guy to the punch.

_Spidey’s gonna be so pissed._

The apartment’s resident, a tiny, elderly hispanic lady who’s been cowering on the far side of the room, screams as the robber’s blood, brains and bits of skull fragment splatter her floral patterned couch and light wood coffee table. An intricate doily is stained red.

‘Goddammit, Wade!’ Spider-Man yells angrily. Wade muses that that’s probably the worst curse word he’s heard the kid use. ‘We don’t kill people!’

**Uh-oh . . .**

_Told ya._

‘He was about to pull the trigger!’ Wade shoots back. ‘I saved your life! Again!’

‘You could have incapacitated him some other way!’

‘Well, I chose this way!’

Spider-Man shakes his head. ’Christ, he wasn’t even . . . He was just some small-time crook down on his luck, not a hardened criminal or murderer! I could have talked him down!’

‘No, you couldn’t have. He was about to pull the trigger. I swear, I wouldn’t have shot him if he wasn’t. Anyway, can we talk about this later? We need to get out of here.’

Spider-Man crosses his arms. ‘We’re not going anywhere! We’re staying right here until the police show up so we can explain this mess.’

**But we’re too pretty for jail!**

‘S-señores?’ They both look up to find that the lady of the house has shuffled closer. She stares fearfully at the body on the floor, bleeding onto her carpet. ‘You go. I talk to police, you leave.’ Her accent is strong. She tears her gaze away from the corpse and looks between Spider-Man and Deadpool. ‘No trouble.’ Then she starts babbling in Spanish. Spider-Man looks bewildered, but Wade knows enough to understand.

‘She says we should leave before the cops show up,’ he translates. ‘She doesn’t want us to get in trouble.’

The woman nods. Then she clasps Spider-Man’s hand in both of hers and says, ‘Gracias, señor Spider-Man!’ She does the same with Wade. ‘Gracias, señor Deadpool!’

Spider-Man is so taken aback that he doesn’t argue when Wade grabs his hand and pulls him out of the window and onto the fire escape. He even lets Wade hop on his back, and then swings them a few blocks south, away from the sound of approaching police sirens, before landing on a quiet rooftop. Once Wade has climbed off, though, Spider-Man rounds on him, fists clenched.

_He’s angry._

**Duh!**

‘This conversation isn’t over, Wade!’

Wade shrugs. ‘Didn’t think it was. But I stand by what I said before. He was gonna shoot you. I shot him first.’

‘In the head! You could have shot him in some other part of his body! You could have just wounded him!’

**Spidey always gets so judgey and ungrateful when we save his life.**

Wade scowls. ’Look, I know his type, okay? He would rather die than go to jail, and he was more than prepared to take you with him! Well, not on my fucking watch!’

Spider-Man shakes his head, scratching his forehead. ’You really don’t understand why what you did was wrong? After everything I’ve tried to teach you about being a hero, none of it actually sunk in?’

‘Lots of heroes occasionally unalive people! You think Wolverine’s stabby-claws are for tickling? You think Hawkeye’s arrows are tranquilliser darts? You think no one gets dead when the Avengers blow shit up?’ Wade clenches his fists and then relaxes them again. ‘Look, I saw a guy about to shoot the only friend I have, okay? So I shot him first. Because I’m not fucking losing you!’

They stand completely still, staring at each other for a few moments. Wade is panting, hands balled into fists. Spider-Man’s stance is guarded, defensive, but then his shoulders seem to relax somewhat.

‘Wade,’ he says softly, and the tone of his voice is almost pleading. Wade hates hearing that, doesn’t want Spidey to back down, ever, for any reason, wants him to always be strong, that’s why he—

_That’s why we love him._

**Exactly.**

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Wade says abruptly, his tone harsher than he meant it to be. ‘I’ll never be a real hero. I know that.’ Then he turns around, walks to the edge of the roof and jumps. The landing breaks his legs in five places. He’ll walk it off.

* * *

It takes Peter a moment to gather his thoughts enough to run over to the edge of the roof and see Deadpool limping away. He wants to say something, or go after him, but he has no idea what he would say. When he thinks about the dead man they left behind in that apartment his anger rises to the surface once more. Wade has to understand that he can’t just go around killing people!

Of course, he hasn’t killed anyone in a long time. Not that Peter’s seen or heard of, anyway, and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t been taking any mercenary jobs. Thinking about it, Wade hasn’t killed anyone since the traffickers at the warehouse, and then he only did it because . . .

Peter shakes his head. It’s no excuse, and he doesn’t want to be partially responsible for the lives that Deadpool takes. Taking a life to save another doesn’t cancel out the deed. It just doesn’t.

And yet, Wade’s words echo in Peter’s head: _‘I’m not fucking losing you!’_

Deadpool’s admiration for Spider-Man isn’t exactly a secret. There’s a reason why Wade came to him in the first place, asking Peter to teach him how to be a hero. He’s always flirted with him, and Peter’s put it down to a fanboy dude crush and not much else. To find that Wade actually earnestly wants to be his friend has been surprising enough on its own, but to learn that he actually cares, or at least thinks he does . . .

Peter’s spent a lot of time dismissing Deadpool—dismissing his wish to be a hero, his friendship, his advances. The first few times they met, Peter treated him with open contempt, and still he kept coming back, never dissuaded. Remembering the defeat in Wade’s rough voice as he said he knows he’ll never be a real hero puts a heavy, leaden lump of guilt in the pit of Peter’s stomach.

‘Crud!’ he murmurs.

He sets course for the Bronx and Wade’s apartment. Going by web is faster than by foot, and when he gets there the place is dark and empty, so he sits on the fire escape and waits. He’s getting cold by the time the door finally opens, light spilling in from the landing, and Wade enters. His shoulders are slouched, and he doesn’t turn on the light. Instead he begins pacing back and forth in an agitated manner.

Peter feels suddenly awkward, like he shouldn’t really be here, and is debating how to make contact when Wade starts to remove his mask. Peter knows how uncomfortable he is showing his face to people, and it doesn’t feel right to let him do it, unaware that someone’s watching, so, steeling himself, Peter raps on the window pane with his knuckle.

* * *

‘I know I fucked up! Stop telling me!’

**We didn’t fuck up, we did what anyone would have done!**

_No, we definitely fucked up, and Spidey hates us again. Or he pities us, which is even worse._

A sharp knock brings Wade out of his head as he freezes, mask halfway up his face, listening for the source. The window. He turns his head slowly, right hand flying to the hilt of one of his katanas. Out on the fire escape sits Spider-Man. When Wade turns towards him he gives a little wave, and it’s like time stops.

_What’s he doing here?_

**He wouldn’t come all this way just to yell at us some more, would he?**

_Open the window!_

**Open the window!**

Wade lets go of his weapon and takes a hesitant step forward. He swallows twice, and then closes the distance, opening the window.

Spider-Man appears to be shivering slightly as he crawls inside, and now they’re standing there, facing each other on the cold floor of Wade’s shitty apartment, neither one seemingly able to come up with anything to say.

It’s Spidey who breaks the silence first. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey,’ Wade replies slowly.

Spider-Man shuffles his feet for a moment, looking uncomfortable. Then he says, ‘Listen—’

‘I’m not apologising,’ Wade interrupts him. ‘I’m not sorry I killed that guy. He was gonna kill you, and I’ll never let that happen, ever. But . . . But I’m sorry I upset you. I can never be like you. As much as I might want to, you’re right, everyone’s right, I’m not a hero. I could save the world and people would still hate me. Come to think of it, I have and they do. But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. I just . . . If it comes down to killing someone or watching you die, I’ll choose killing, every time. Not cause I like it or cause I wanna kill, but because I could never let you die. That’s just . . . It’s a no-brainer, really. If that means we can’t . . . I mean, if you don’t want me around, then—’

‘Wade,’ says Spider-Man gently. ‘Shut up for a second, okay?’

Wade shuts his mouth and nods.

‘I’m sorry. I know that’s an impossible choice, and while it’s easy for me to gamble with my life, I can’t just expect you to take that gamble. So, I’m sorry I blew up.’

Wade blinks, and stares. ‘I . . . What? Now I know I’m hallucinating.’

**Yup.**

_Yes, definitely hallucinating._

‘You’re not. I . . .’ Spider-Man pauses and appears to consider his words. ‘It’s unreasonable of me to expect a miracle. I’ve been holding you to a standard I wouldn’t hold anyone else to. You’re right. Sometimes heroes kill. We can try to be better than that, but the truth is . . . If I was faced with the choice between the life of an innocent and the life of a bad guy, if there was no other choice . . . Well, I guess you never know until you’re in that situation, really, and I . . .’ He heaves a frustrated sigh and falls silent.

‘So, you’re saying . . . You forgive me?’ Wade asks tentatively, hardly daring to hope for the answer.

‘It’s not even about forgiving you. I was wrong.’ Spidey reaches out and gives Wade’s upper arm a squeeze. ‘I was _wrong_ , Wade. I’ve been so focused on black and white I forget there are shades of grey. I mean, you’re pretty much made up entirely of shades of grey, and you’re still my friend. Even if it is sometimes against my better judgment.’

Wade knows he’s missing the best set-up ever for a 50 Shades joke, but he just can't right now. Instead he swallows again. His mouth feels dry and he clears his throat. ‘I’m . . . I’m your friend?’ It comes out as barely more than a whisper. Even the boxes are silent. ‘We’re friends?’

Spider-Man cocks his head to one side. ‘Of course we are. You’ve got my back, I’ve got yours, right?’

Wade nods, not trusting himself to speak. Something hot is spreading through his body, making every sound, every movement hyper-real, and he can hear his blood rushing in his ears. He and Spider-Man are friends. Spider-Man forgave him. He doesn’t hate him.

‘Okay, then,’ says Spider-Man and lets go of his arm. ‘I should get home. I’m expecting a tip-off on the hide-out of a drug cartel tomorrow, if everything goes according to plan. Think you’re up for kicking some butt?’

Wade nods again, finding his voice at last. ‘You bet. Always.’

‘Cool.’ Spider-Man crawls back out of the window and onto the fire escape, readying his web shooter. ‘See you tomorrow, then.’ Then he jumps and is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't turn out at all the way I'd imagined, but I hope you guys like it anyways. Until next time!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3

Peter unlocks the door and enters. ‘Aunt May? You home?’ He still has a key, knows he’s still welcome whenever he wants, even though he’s moved out.

‘Peter?’ comes her voice from somewhere upstairs. ‘I’ll be right down, sweetheart!’ He can hear her footsteps on the stairs, and then she appears in the kitchen, bright eyed and smiling. Her silver hair is done up and she looks the same as ever.

Aunt May hugs him tightly, much stronger than she appears, and then looks up to examine his features with that piercing gaze of hers that reads secrets off his face like it’s a damn book. ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages, doesn’t it?’ She gives him a shrewd look, and Peter runs a hand through his hair rather awkwardly.

‘Yeah, I’m sorry about that,’ he murmurs. ‘Things have been kind of crazy lately.’

‘Well, you’re here now.’ She smiles. ‘Come on, have a seat! I’ll make us some cocoa. You hungry? I think I have some leftover apple pie in the fridge . . .’

Sitting down at the table while Aunt May bustles around the kitchen makes Peter feel like he’s in high school again. Like he’s still just a kid, still just Peter Parker. He watches her fondly as she makes the cocoa and tells him about her day, responding only where it seems warranted. She heats two slices of apple pie in the microwave before topping them with scoops of vanilla ice cream, and then they’re sitting there, face to face with cocoa and pie between them.

‘So! How’s your day been, dear?’ Aunt May asks, lifting a piece of pie to her mouth with a fork. ‘Or should I say week, or month, perhaps?’

They used to do this all the time, every weekend, when Peter had just moved out, but over the years it’s become a far less regular occurrence. Peter feels guilty about that. He feels guilty about a lot of things.

‘It’s been okay. A lot going on. Got some really tough subjects this semester, so school’s pretty demanding. Then there’s work, but honestly I don’t even want to talk about that.’

Aunt May nods, taking a sip of her cocoa. ‘Mary Jane Watson came by here asking about you the other day,’ she says suddenly. ‘Seems she’s back in town. She said she hasn’t seen you in a while either.’

‘For obvious reasons,’ Peter mutters. Aunt May raises an eyebrow at him and he sighs. ‘Look, we split up, okay? Things are bound to be weird and awkward for a while and if I’m perfectly honest, I don’t really want to see too much of her.’

Aunt May sighs. ‘It’s been months, Peter. I’d hoped the two of you could at least be friends. You spend so much time alone . . .’

Peter hesitates. ‘I’ve actually made a new friend lately . . . Kinda.’

‘Oh? Someone from school?’

‘No, we . . . We work together occasionally. His name is Wade.’

She smiles warmly. ‘Well, I’m glad to know you’re making friends. What’s he like?’

‘He—’ Peter hesitates again. How would he even begin to go about describing Wade? ‘He’s . . . Kind of a loose cannon, actually. I mean, he’s nice, and he cares about me a lot, but he has . . . A lot of issues, I guess. He’s got practically no social skills, so most people don’t know how to act around him. He hasn’t really got a lot of friends, or family or, well, anyone.’

‘Sounds like you feel sorry for him.’

Peter frowns, picking at his pie with his fork. The melting ice cream forms rivers along the apple slices, turning into a lake on his plate. ‘That’s not really it. He’s helped me out in a lot of tight spots, and he . . . He looks out for me, to the point where he’s really protective. Sometimes he goes a little overboard, but . . . I dunno, I gotta admire his tenacity, you know? And when we just hang out, he’s like this huge teddybear, like he’s just the sweetest guy, even if he can seem kind of scary otherwise. We’ve got a lot in common,’ superpowers, secrets, hunting bad guys, ‘so talking to him is easy. So even though he’s got enough mental problems to fill up New York state and then some I, you know, trust him.’

Aunt May chuckles softly at this. ‘It’s so like you to look past what everyone else sees and just see the person underneath, Peter. This Wade is lucky to have you for a friend, and by the sound of things you’re pretty lucky to have him.’

Peter smiles and looks down at his melting ice cream. ‘Yeah,’ he says, nodding slowly. ‘I guess you’re right.’

* * *

‘Damn, girl, you’ve got thighs of steel!’ Tonight’s villainess, top dog of a cell within a drug cartel, has her thick, muscular legs wrapped around Deadpool’s neck, in what is clearly an attempt to crush his windpipe. Of course, Wade being Wade, he keeps talking, though his breathing is growing slightly laboured. ‘Seriously, do you do pole dancing? Cause, fuck me, people would pay serious money for that shit! I mean, I’m impressed.’

‘Don’t you ever shut up?’ she growls through gritted teeth, twisting her lower body in a move that would break most people’s necks. Peter thinks he hears a crack, but of course Wade is still standing. She’s holding onto a metal pipe in the low ceiling of her basement hide-out, long dark hair coming loose from her tight pony tail and coffee and cream skin glistening with sweat.

‘He really doesn’t,’ Peter informs her while knocking out one of her lackeys with a well-aimed kick to the head.

‘Seriously, though, while normally I’d relish the thought of being between the thighs of a hot babe such as yourself,’ Wade huffs, clutching at her legs and trying to force them apart, ‘I’m afraid my heart belongs to someone else. I’m all about pecs and biceps these days, if you know what I’m saying. I mean,’ he utters a loud groan, trying to free himself, ‘you’re gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, and I’m all kinds of into bad girls, usually, but it’s just kind of a bad time . . .’ He glances as Peter over the top of her thigh. ‘Sweetums? Little help here?’

Peter has knocked out the last of the lackeys, so he doesn’t need to be asked twice. He jumps up onto drug lady’s back, prying her fingers off the pipe she’s been holding onto, and causing them all to topple over backwards. Peter lands hard on his back, the breath very nearly knocked out of him, but the move had the desired effect. In a final, desperate bid for escape the woman lets go with her thighs and tries to scramble over to the stairs on her hands and knees, but Deadpool is already on his feet and swiftly strikes her across the temple with the butt of his sidearm. She drops like a tonne of bricks, out cold.

‘She wasn’t kidding, though. You could pretty much talk people to death if you wanted to, couldn’t you?’ says Peter, getting to his feet. He’s a little winded but otherwise fine. ‘I mean, your guns and swords are just for show, really.’

‘It’s true,’ says Wade solemnly. ‘That’s my true super power. You were bitten by a radioactive spider, I was bitten by a radioactive talk show host. One that’s on really late and swears a lot.’

Peter frowns. ‘Wait, how do you know how I—’

‘Classic superhero origin story,’ says Wade dismissively, kneeling next to the now unconscious woman and searching her pockets. ‘Especially the ones that were invented in the fifties and sixties. Man, everything was about radiation back then! Mostly cause people didn’t understand nuclear power yet. Aha!’ He fishes her keychain off her belt and—while Peter webs her up with her lackeys, trying very hard not to try and make sense of Wade’s ramblings—walks over to a locked cabinet.

‘Let’s see what’s behind door number one!’ He fiddles with the keys for a moment, until he finds the right one, and then opens it up. Wade gives a whistle. ‘Jackpot! About twenty kilos of top grade cocaine! And . . . Ooh, what’s this?’ He turns around, a manila folder in his hand. ‘What do you wanna bet this has got info on her suppliers?’

Peter smiles. ‘Not bad! Leave that open. Police should be by pretty soon.’

‘Yes, sir!’ says Wade, and Peter can see his grin through the mask. As they head up the stairs he sighs wistfully. ‘Man, I miss drugs . . . I mean, my memories from before Weapon X are pretty vague and muddled, but still, I’m pretty sure I used to party. But the healing factor makes the whole thing kinda pointless, you know? I can’t even get drunk. My body just bypasses the whole drunk state and, if I drink enough, sends me right into the world’s briefest but also most intense hangover. It’s not pretty. And hallucinogenics are out, even if they worked there would be no point as it’s like I’m already constantly tripping balls . . .’

Peter laughs in spite of himself. He’s always been fairly anti-drugs, and didn’t even taste alcohol until he turned twenty-one, but somehow the whole conversation seems weirdly innocuous. Besides, he feels pretty good right now. They’ve just taken out a branch of a large criminal organisation, made New York that much safer, and didn’t have to kill or even seriously injure anyone to do it. He feels comfortable calling that a huge win.

They leave the scene on foot. Peter’s back is sore from the fall, so he’s not sure letting Wade piggyback would be a very good idea. Instead they climb up walls and parkour across the rooftops. They’re a block away by the time Peter starts hearing sirens in the distance.

‘Hey, Spidey,’ says Wade, ‘wanna call it a night and stop by my place for a beer?’

Peter finds himself smiling again. ‘Sure, why not?’ And they set course for the Bronx.

* * *

Wade pulls two beers out of the fridge and tosses one to Peter, who catches it. It’s Canadian lager of some description. Peter pulls his mask up to his nose to take a sip, and has a sudden urge, not for the first time, to just take it off already. Say, ‘My name is Peter, by the way,’ and smile at Wade, show him that he trusts him.

But he’s kept his identity secret for this long for a reason. He has a responsibility to protect his identity in order to protect the people close to him. At the moment, that’s pretty much limited to Aunt May, but even so. It’s a tough habit to break. Instead he takes a swig of his beer, watching Deadpool do the same.

‘Hey,’ he says suddenly, ‘if you can’t get drunk, why do you drink beer?’

Wade looks at him for a moment, and then just shrugs. ‘Beer is tasty. I can like something even if it doesn’t get me drunk, can’t I?’

‘Of course,’ says Peter, feeling slightly stupid, and to fill the silence he takes another large sip of the golden liquid.

‘Hey, Spidey,’ says Wade, ‘wanna show me your moves?’

Peter looks at him blankly. ‘Huh?’

‘We could spar! Just, for fun. Besides, I figure with alcohol in your blood is about the only time I stand a real chance of beating you in mano a mano.’ Wade grins widely. ‘Come on! It’ll be fun. No weapons, promise. And good practice for you, too, as you won’t have to hold back on the super strength. Can’t hurt me, anyway.’

Peter considers this for a moment, draining his bottle. Wade has a point. It’s not often he has the opportunity to train outside of a life and death situation. ‘Yeah, okay,’ he says in the end, and Wade whoops happily.

‘All right! We’ll go up to the roof. I’ll bring some more beer. This is gonna be epic!’

They scale the fire escape to the roof, and Wade sets down a few bottles in a corner. He discards his weapons next to them, and even takes off the belt of pouches around his waist. Then he stands facing Peter, a smirk on his lips. They’ve both still got their masks pulled up to their noses.

Without warning, Wade lunges at Peter with his fist raised. Peter side-steps, blocking with his forearm, and lands a light kick to Wade’s side. Wade laughs.

‘The hell was that, a love tap? Come on, baby boy, I told you you don’t need to hold back!’

Peter shrugs. ‘I thought we were just getting warmed up.’

Wade laughs again and beckons with his left hand. ‘Come at me, super-bro!’

Peter feints to the right, his dominant side, and at the last minute strafes left, bringing his fist up to Wade’s shoulder. He’s fast, but Wade adapts and blocks the incoming punch with little difficulty. Soon they’re trading punches and kicks at the speed of dancing. Wade’s clearly had martial arts training in the past, his moves quick and precise, and he’s almost as good at reading incoming attacks as Peter is. Where Peter notes the minute movements of musculature before a punch and dodges intuitively, Wade seems to have a different approach to reading his opponent’s moves, a keen and well trained eye. He takes calculated risks, occasionally taking a hit in order to return one with more force.

For the first time Peter understands why no one’s managed to take Wade Wilson down fully, why S.H.I.E.L.D hasn’t managed to bring him in yet. Deadpool’s healing factor isn’t the only thing he’s got going for him. Behind it lies both skill and intelligence that enables him to match punch for punch, kick for kick. It’s impressive, and the longer they fight, the less Peter feels the need to hold back. Soon he’s going all out, and Wade laughs gleefully every time a blow connects, his mouth running more or less constantly. Peter tries not to let it distract him.

‘Oho, that hit the spot!’ Wade says as Peter lands a particularly vicious punch to his stomach that knocks him backwards. He coughs once and is back on form again, taking advantage of the halt in flow to return the blow with a kick. ‘That’s what I’m talking about, baby, give it to me!’

Peter doesn’t know whether to laugh or blush, so he settles for catching wade’s fist in his hand the next time it comes for him. With his other hand he grabs Wade’s wrist and pulls, while tripping him up and knocking him off his feet. Wade falls on his back with a loud, ‘Oof!’ but he has time to grab Peter’s wrist in turn and pulls him down with him. He rolls them over, so Peter’s on his back, and sits on his chest, pinning his arms to his sides with well toned thighs.

Bucking his hips, Peter tries to throw him off, but he’s got six foot two and two-hundred pounds of muscle sitting on his chest, and Wade grins down at him as the realisation seems to hit him that he’s winning.

Wade brings his face close to Peter’s, and for a moment Peter wonders if he’s about to kiss him. He finds that he’s strangely comfortable with the idea. Instead, Wade murmurs, ‘You give, baby boy?’

Later, Peter will probably blame the beer, or the adrenaline rush of the fight, or basically anything but his own will, but for now he stops struggling and, wiggling his torso slightly, manages to raise his shoulders off the ground and his face right up to Wade’s. Pausing only to give a slight smirk he whispers, ‘I give,’ and then closes the distance, meeting Wade’s chapped lips with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, timeline and canon divergence: Peter's in his final year of college, 21 years old. He dated MJ on and off for a while after Gwen's death, but after a lot of issues between them MJ dumped him about 6 months before the start of this story (no marriage proposals; I mean, what is this, the 1970s?). So that's where we're at. I've decided to put Wade in his mid-thirties, so there's a bit of an age difference, but who actually gives a shit, right?
> 
> Hope you all approve of this development! I'm going away on Wednesday and not back until Sunday, so I'll try having the next chapter up before I leave so as not to leave you guys hanging. Adios for now!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is so much kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this so quickly I don't even know how it happened. I fully intended to make it to the sexy bits this chapter, but Peter and Wade had other plans... I hope you like it anyway.

**Spidey’s kissing us!**

_Wait, why is Spidey kissing us?_

**Who the fuck cares? Spidey’s kissing us!**

It is a doubtless reality that Spider-Man is indeed kissing Wade. At least it feels real, soft lips moving gently against his, noses bumping into each other occasionally, but Wade is having a hard time believing it. The move took him so much by surprise that it’s hard to process. The idea that this is a blissful hallucination or dream can’t seem to leave him, and subsequently his reciprocation is less enthusiastic than he wants it to be.

He wants to kiss the man beneath him back, hard. He wants to bury is tongue in his mouth, taste him, revel in him. He wants to run his hands across his body, feel taut muscles under his fingertips. But before he has time to get his ass, or indeed his brain, in gear to do any of these things, the kiss is over, too quickly.

**Shit! What if we missed our shot?**

Spidey moves beneath him, and Wade manages to slide backwards a bit so he can half sit, resting his weight on his elbows and forearms.

‘Hey.’ Spidey’s tone sounds hesitant. ‘You . . . You okay, Wade?’

The name rolls off his tongue so easily, so beautifully, and Wade wonders how he hasn’t noticed that before, how good his name sounds in Spider-Man’s tenor voice. A laugh bubbles up from out of nowhere, and he tries to stifle it, but it still comes out as a choked giggle, high pitched and quavery.

_Real smooth, Wilson._

Wade ignores the box. ‘Yeah, man, I’m fine, I’m . . . Just trying to figure out which part of my subconscious just did a brain-fart, you know, cause I totally thought you just kissed me, which is just, I mean, it’s ridiculous, isn’t it, cause why the hell would you?’

Spidey smiles weakly, and Wade could swear his cheeks (the part of them Wade can see) have gone slightly pink. ‘Yeah, um . . .’ Spider-Man seems to hesitate and looks away. ‘I kind of did.’

‘Huh?’

‘Kiss you. I . . . kissed you.’

There must be something wrong with Wade. His boxes keep telling him so, and he usually ignores them, but now he’s forced to concede that there’s definitely something wrong with him, because he’s straddling Spider-Man, who just kissed him, in a dream scenario that he’s pictured in his head a million times in a million different ways, and he can’t for the life of him figure out what to do about it. He should be pushing Spidey down into the concrete rooftop, kissing him stupid, fucking into his mouth with his tongue and undressing him. But now that he’s in this situation, looking down at this man, this beautiful boy whom he’s been lusting after for as long as he can remember, probably longer than it’s been technically legal, he has no idea what to do with himself.

Wade swallows, and tries to speak, and then swallows again. Then he finally says, ‘You better not be messing with me, Spider-Man.’ His voice comes out quiet and a little shaky.

‘I’m not!’ says Spider-Man quickly, looking at him again. ‘I swear. I mean, I probably couldn’t tell you why I did it, I . . . I just did. It seemed like the thing to do, and I just kind of went for it and I thought you wanted it, but if you don’t, if you were just playing, that’s cool. I just—’

He’s rambling now, and his face is definitely a little red, and it’s so adorable that Wade throws caution to the wind, forgets to be scared, and presses his lips up against Spider-Man’s, cutting him off mid-sentence.

There’s a long, frozen moment in which they stay like that, chaste, lips touching and not much else, and then Spider-Man’s lips begin to move against Wade’s. He lifts one hand, grasping the back of Wade’s neck a little harder than necessary, his gloved thumb caressing Wade’s scarred jawline, and Wade is lost.

The boxes are silent, or if they’re still talking Wade can no longer hear. All there is, right now, is Spider-Man’s firm body beneath him, the pressure of his palm on Wade’s neck, and his mouth. Oh, fuck, that mouth!

Wade moves with the kiss, opens his lips and licks at Spidey’s lips experimentally, testing boundaries. Spider-Man’s response is immediate. His lips part and his tongue flicks out to clash with Wade’s. Spider-Man’s mouth tastes like lager, and something sweet and slightly tangy that Wade can’t identify. His lips are so soft, and Wade moans into the kiss as the realisation hits him that this is happening, he’s kissing Spider-Man, this is really, truly happening!

With a soft growl, Wade slides his hands around Spider-Man’s torso and pulls him up into a sitting position. He tightens his embrace, pulling him flush against him, and Spidey utters a groan of surprise, deepening the kiss. His arms are now around Wade’s shoulders and neck, one hand cradling the back of his head. Wade takes the opportunity to slide his hands up and down the smooth muscles of Spider-Man’s back. The boy is slim enough that he can feel his shoulder blades and the ridge of his spine. Wade wants to take off his gloves, but he also doesn’t want to freak Spidey out with the touch of his scarred hands. He doesn’t want to think about that, about how at any moment Spidey may realise that this is Deadpool he’s kissing, and that this is not an attractive body he’s got in his lap. Wade pushes the thought to the back of his mind. He’ll have this moment, no matter what happens later.

As he thinks this, Spider-Man releases his lips and begins to kiss a trail along his jaw and down to his semi-exposed throat, caressing his scars with lips and tongue. Wade groans loudly. This is giving him a raging hard-on, and in their current position he’s sure Spider-Man can feel it against his lower abdomen, but he seems to take no notice. The other’s teeth graze the flesh over his jugular, and Wade moans, feeling his cock twitch in his pants. Spider-Man chuckles softly before licking the spot.

‘Shit, Spidey!’ Wade all but whimpers. ‘Feels so fucking good . . .’

Spider-Man pulls away for a moment, panting slightly, and looks up at Wade, licking his lips. He seems to hesitate for a second, but then he clears his throat and says, oh so softly, ‘My name is Peter.’

Wade blinks, frozen for an instant, gazing down on Spidey’s lips as he says the words. Peter. His name is Peter. Wade swallows heavily, and finds that his breathing has become laboured while he had his attention elsewhere.

‘Peter?’ he repeats in barely more than a whisper, and Spider-Man nods. ‘Peter,’ Wade says again, slower this time, tasting the name on his tongue. His name is Peter. Peter. Saying it feels good, so he says it again, louder, his voice rumbling low in his chest this time. ‘Peter.’

Spider-Man—no, Peter smiles up at him, and now they’re kissing again, and Wade feels like he never ever wants to stop kissing Peter. Not ever.

Even through the combined layers of their suits, Peter is so warm, and he smells of soap and clean sweat. When Wade mimics him and half kisses, half licks along his jaw he finds that the smooth skin tastes slightly salty, with a sweetness underneath. There’s the barest hint of stubble, rough on Wade’s lips and tongue, contrasting with the softness of the rest of his skin.

He savours all of it, storing each sensation, each taste and smell, away in his mind to be remembered always, because even though they’ve been doing this, making out like teenagers, for going on twenty minutes now, he still keeps expecting it to stop at any moment, for Peter to come to his senses and realise that making out with Deadpool is crazy. Wade hardly dares to hope that this isn’t some crazy dream, some fantasy hallucination his mind’s cooked up for him, let alone that it will ever happen again or turn into something more.

A hundred different fantasies, involving at least two-hundred weird, fucked up kinks and fetishes, roll through Wade’s mind and he’s absolutely sure that he’ll trade all of them, forget them forever and leave any chance of them ever happening behind if they can just keep doing this, if he can just keep holding Peter in his arms, can just keep kissing him for five minutes longer. This, this moment, is the most perfect moment of Wade Wilson’s miserable existence. This, right here, is all he could ever wish for, and he will cherish it until the day he dies, which is promising to be a really long time.

After what could just as easily be hours as minutes, they break apart, both panting, Peter’s lips red and raw from all the kissing. He slides a gloved finger underneath his mask and licks his lips. Then he moves his other hand to the back of his head and pulls. Wade gapes in astonishment as Peter pulls his mask all the way off to reveal soft hazel eyes and messy brown hair. The New York City light polution paints him in a golden glow. The skin of his face is smooth, young, though the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles, and Wade is torn between attacking his lips again and continuing to admire this gorgeous visage. He counts fifteen freckles in the dim light, takes it all in hungrily, stowing it away in his head to savour later. Every eyelash, every slight blemish that makes Peter’s face so imperfectly perfect.

‘Fuck,’ Wade whispers, and clears his throat because his voice sounds dry. ‘Peter, I knew you were hot, but I didn’t know you were . . . Shit, you’re so fucking beautiful!’ The words come tumbling out before he has time to process them in his head, as is frequently the case, and he feels his face turn warm.

Thankfully, Peter blushes as well, clearly not used to such compliments, and Wade feels his courage slowly returning.

‘I mean,’ he continues, ‘I always figured you liked pretty ladies. I like pretty ladies, too, _and_ hot guys. Depending on the situation I can like anyone. Not that you’re just _anyone_ , I mean . . . But if you like pretty ladies, I can try to be one. Maybe not so much the pretty part, but I have some frilly dresses I could put on and stuff, if you’re into that. What I’m saying is I can be a lady if that’s what you—’

Peter laughs softly and places a finger on Wade’s lips to silence him. ‘I don’t need you to be a lady, Wade. I just need you to be you. Okay?’

Wade falls silent and nods, the overwhelming urge to lick the gloved finger on his lips kicking in, but he stops himself, unsure of whether they’re at the finger licking stage of this relationship yet. Instead he swallows, and when Peter pulls his hand back, says, ‘We could go back downstairs, if you want . . .’

Peter looks at him, still smiling, and then gazes up at the sky. The eastern horizon is lightening just a fraction. He sighs. ‘It’s getting late. Or early, as the case may be. I think . . . I think maybe I should get going soon.’

Wade feels his heart sink and looks away, trying to hide his disappointment. ‘Oh. Yeah. Of course.’

‘Wade.’ He turns his eyes back on Peter and finds his expression soft and kind. ‘I’m not brushing you off, okay?’ He touches the palm of his hand to Wade’s cheek, stroking gently with his thumb. Wade leans into the touch. ‘I just have to get up in the morning,’ Peter continues. ‘So, rain check?’

Wade nods. There’s a lump in his throat and he doesn’t trust himself to speak. He swallows again, and nods yet more vigorously, causing Peter to chuckle.

Leaning in, Peter kisses him again. It’s soft and chaste and absolutely magical, and Wade damn near whimpers again, because something about the way Peter is kissing him makes him feel more alive and more real than he’s felt in what must be years.

Pulling back, Peter says, ‘Okay, then. See you tomorrow?’

Wade nods again. ‘Yeah,’ he manages to say, in a voice that’s close to breaking.

He stands up, and pulls Spider-Man—Peter—to his feet. After giving him one final peck on the lips, Peter pulls his mask back on and walks over to the edge of the roof, readying his web shooter. Then, looking back over his shoulder, he says, ‘Good night, Wade,’ and is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there you have it. 2000 words of kissing. Because why the hell not, right? I leave for Greece at stupid o'clock Wednesday morning and get back on Sunday, and I kind of doubt I'll manage to update before then, but stranger things have happened... In the meantime, take care and stay awesome!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, you guys, we've passed 100 comments, 300 kudos and 5000 hits!! And with this chapter we'll be firmly into 20k land as far as word count goes, too. I'm so happy and proud and you guys are awesome, and thank you for the totally awesome record amount of comments on the last chapter, it's really made my week! I love all of you!
> 
> Now, small extra 'warning' on this chapter for sexual content, and a question for you all: Do I need to up the rating to Explicit? I so suck at judging these things for myself... Either way, hope you like!

Peter thinks he might be having some kind of psychotic break. It’s not because he decided to tell Deadpool his real first name and show him his face, though this is cause for concern in and of itself. It’s not even because he spent a good portion of last night making out with the man, a tongue-wrestling session instigated by him, Peter. No, the reason why Peter suspects he may have once and for all completely lost his mind is because he has every intention in the world of doing it all over again tonight.

He realises as his mind wanders in class, that he’s never really liked another guy before. For the most part, he’s tended to fall in love with people and then have eyes for no one else. So far, those people have been of the female persuasion. The idea of falling for a guy has never really occurred to him before, and before last night he hadn’t even realised that that’s what was happening.

 _Is_ that what’s happening? Is he falling for Wade Wilson? The thought is a strange and somewhat disconcerting one.

He’s seen Wade without his Deadpool mask several times, though Wade prefers to keep it on. He knows what Wade’s skin looks like, knows how marred it is by scars and sores. Rationally, Peter knows that should turn him off. (It’s comforting that he can still think about all of this rationally.) But when they kissed last night, it didn’t even occur to him. Peter pressed his lips to Wade’s skin, and those scars might as well not have been there. It felt good. It felt intimate. Because it was Wade.

Peter shakes his head, and realises with a jolt that he’s more than a little bit turned on. He flushes, looking around as though someone might be watching him, as though some classmate can tell, but of course no one’s paying attention to him, too busy focusing on the lecture on molecular biology. The lecture that Peter should be paying attention to as well. But Peter’s head is elsewhere, full of thoughts and ideas he can’t explain to himself, let alone expel in favour of actually learning something.

There is so much wrong with this. There are so many reasons why all of this is a really, really bad idea, not least of which is the fact that Peter knows literally nothing about Wade, other than that, oh yeah, he’s a freaking mercenary who’s killed hundreds, maybe thousands of people for money. He also knows that Wade loves tacos, really identifies with The Little Mermaid, and drinks beer cause it tastes good. And he knows that Wade is totally crazy about him and is a really, really good kisser . . . This is more, he realises, than Wade actually knows about _him_. They don’t even know each other’s ages, though Peter is pretty sure Wade is quite a bit older than he is. Yeah, everything about this . . . whatever it is . . . is a huge mistake, and a toddler could see it.

In spite of all these not inconsiderable misgivings, however, all Peter can think about is seeing Wade later. They’ll patrol together, and then . . . What then? His mind can come up with several enticing scenarios that put butterflies in his stomach and make him squirm in his seat. He really hasn’t wanted anyone like this since . . . Well. This isn’t the time to consider past loves or the regrets that come with them.

The lecture ends, and Peter hurries out of the auditorium, narrowly avoiding being cornered by the professor who’s been trying to get him to do a presentation for the class ever since he handed in his first assignment of the semester.

* * *

It’s a quiet night. Peter worried that things would be awkward, but when they meet up Wade is his usual self and acts as professional as he gets. They patrol for a couple of hours, intervening and stopping a couple of fights, but there’s not really much going on.

When it starts to seem like crime’s taken a vacation in NYC tonight, Wade says casually, ‘So . . . Wanna spar again?’

Peter laughs softly. ‘I think we both know where that will lead.’ It’s a lot more straight forward and flirty than he usually is. Peter’s always been awkward in these situations, but Wade makes him feel bold.

Wade shrugs one shoulder. ‘Well, I guess if you want we could just skip the sparring . . .’

‘Buy me dinner first,’ Peter quips, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.

‘Actually, that’s not a terrible idea,’ says Wade after a few moments. ‘I’m pretty hungry. There’s this all night Mexican place I know about. Really awesome chimichangas! Wanna get something to eat?’

Peter only needs a moment to consider this. ‘Sure, why not?’

Trust Deadpool to be able to keep chattering through mouthfuls of deep fried burrito. Peter mostly eats and listens. They sit on a rooftop, because rooftops are apparently their thing. Wade talks about guns, food, mercenary jobs he’s had (mostly the less violent ones), with the occasional comment aimed at nobody in particular. In other words, Wade’s being Wade, and there’s something deeply comforting about that.

When the food is gone, Wade falls silent for a little while, looking at Peter through the white lenses of his mask, a thoughtful expression around his exposed mouth. ‘So,’ he says finally, his voice a deep, soft rumble, ‘what do you wanna do now, Peter?’

It’s the first time he’s said Peter’s name since last night, and Peter feels warmth radiate from somewhere in his chest. He shifts slightly as a million thoughts go through his head. Wade waits for him to speak, fidgeting a bit where he sits. Jittery. A little nervous, perhaps?

Making up his mind, Peter speaks. ‘We could go to my place.’

For a moment, Wade just stares. Then he looks around, almost like he’s expecting an ambush. He mutters, ‘Yeah, I think he actually said that . . . Did you actually say that?’ The last bit appears to be aimed at Peter, who nods. Wade returns the nod, swallows and says, ‘Okay.’

They travel by web, Peter choosing his familiar routes, out of the way so they’re unlikely to attract attention. They land in an alley next to Peter’s building and scale the fire escape in silence. Once on the right floor, Peter leaves Wade for a moment, climbing the brick wall to the window he leaves ajar when he goes out as Spider-Man. Part of him can’t believe he’s about to let Deadpool into his apartment. He climbs inside and goes to open the window by the fire escape.

As the window slides open, Wade looks around before leaning in and pressing his lips to Peter’s through their masks. It’s an oddly sweet gesture, bordering on domestic. Then he climbs inside, and Peter shuts the window.

They stand there for a moment, Wade looking around. Peter’s apartment is small—smaller than Wade’s, but a lot better kept. The main space, which they’re standing in, is a combined kitchen and living room, while doors at one end lead off into the bedroom and bathroom. The bedroom door is ajar. Peter lights the lamp behind the couch, casting the room into soft, warm light.

‘Nice place,’ says Wade. ‘Your couch looks comfier than mine.’ He nods towards the furniture in question.

‘Feel free to try it out to compare,’ Peter replies. ‘Would you like something to drink?’

‘Uh, sure.’ Wade sits down on the couch while Peter walks over to the fridge, taking his mask off as he goes and leaving it on the kitchen counter. He opens the fridge and looks inside. He didn’t really plan for this, and consequently doesn’t have any beer, but there’s a big bottle of some generic brand orange flavoured soda, so he gets that out and picks two glasses out of the cupboard on the way back to the couch. Once there, he finds Wade staring at him.

‘Um,’ says Peter, setting down the glasses and the bottle, ‘you mind if I just go get changed?’

‘Huh? No. That’s fine.’

‘Okay. Help yourself to soda.’ Peter smiles.

He goes into the bedroom and closes the door behind him. The jeans and t-shirt he wore earlier are still on the bed, and he changes quickly. His brain is working in overdrive. Wade Wilson is sitting out there, in his living room. He has invited Deadpool into his home. If anyone else in the superhero community could see him now, they’d think he’d gone completely insane. He can’t quite rule out the idea that they’d be right.

Peter walks barefoot back out into the living room, where he finds Wade still sitting on the couch. He hasn’t poured himself soda, but he’s discarded his weapons on the floor next to him. Hesitating only for a second, Peter sits down next to him and pours soda into both their glasses. They each take a drink, Wade pulling his mask up to his nose again, and then replace the glasses on the coffee table. Peter looks over at Deadpool and, without giving himself much pause for thought, leans in and kisses him.

Wade makes a sharp intake of breath as their lips touch, but this time he wastes no time in kissing Peter back, greedily lapping at his lips with his tongue, and Peter parts them for him, taking that tongue into his mouth. He strokes Wade’s cheek with his hand, feeling the rough, scarred skin under his fingers. He finds that it doesn’t bother him in the least, and he swings one leg over Wade’s lap for better access, licking into his open mouth. Wade grips his hips, squeezing. Peter moans softly at the touch.

After some moments, he pulls away a little, tracing the seam of the red and black mask with his forefinger. ‘May I?’

Wade utters a grim laugh, looking away. ‘Can’t see why you’d want to. It’ll just spoil the mood . . .’

‘It won’t,’ Peter promises, and presses a gentle kiss to Wade’s cheek. ‘Please?’ he whispers against his skin. ‘I want to see your eyes.’

Wade hesitates for a moment longer. Then he nods, and Peter pulls the mask off, slowly. The scars and sores it reveals should give him pause, but they don’t. Instead, Peter is one hundred percent focused on the warm brown eyes that appear from under the fabric. Those eyes stare into his, and Peter smiles.

‘Hey. There you are.’ He brings both hands to Wade’s face, running his fingers over his cheeks and his jaw, stroking his bottom lip with one thumb. Wade shuts his brown eyes with a sigh.

‘Warm,’ he says softly, his breathing heavy. ‘You’re so warm. Haven’t . . .’ Wade hesitates, works his jaw for a moment. ‘Not in a long time.’

Peter kisses him again, fiercely, trying to convey through that kiss how little he cares about how he looks. How little any of that matters. That what truly matters is Wade’s heart. He doesn’t even bother to feel like an idiot for thinking anything so cheesy. He just kisses Wade like there’s nothing else in the world.

Moving his hips a little, Peter is unsurprised to find Wade’s body responding. Truth be told, he’s getting pretty turned on himself, though he’s not entirely sure what to do about it. This is all pretty new to him, after all. He wants to touch Wade, touch him all over. The thought makes his pulse speed up, and presses his body tight against Wade.

His movements seem to have spurred Wade into action, and the older man has begun to slide his gloved palms up and down Peter’s sides and back. He breaks the kiss and moves his mouth down to Peter’s neck, licking and biting just a little bit. Peter releases a soft moan, and Wade groans in the back of his throat in response. He slides his fingers through Peter’s dark hair.

Peter takes one of Wade’s hands, and Wade pauses to look at him. Slowly, his eyes locked to Wade’s, Peter removes the glove to reveal a strong, scarred, long fingered hand. Wade makes to pull his hand away, but with silent determination, Peter brings it up to touch his face, pausing to kiss the rough palm on the way. Wade’s breath hitches in his throat as his palm touches Peter’s skin, but their eyes remain locked while Peter removes the second glove before leaning in to kiss him again.

Wade makes an oddly pleading noise, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and Peter decides he’d really like to hear that again, so he grinds his hips against Wade’s, producing yet another sound against his lips, as Wade’s breathing grows heavier still. Peter smiles into the kiss. There is want and need in Wade’s movements and the sounds he makes. He likes that.

‘Fuck, baby boy!’ Wade gasps when they next come up for air. ‘You have no idea what you’re doing to me . . .’

‘I think I can make an educated guess,’ Peter murmurs against his cheek, and once again feeling inexplicably bold, reaches down and palms Wade through his pants. Wade swears loudly. ‘Mm, yeah. As I thought.’ Peter gives a gentle squeeze.

‘Fuck, fuck, shit!’ Wade closes his eyes. ‘I’m dreaming. I’ve been dreaming since last night. This just can’t be happening, it doesn’t make sense, I can’t the this lucky!’

‘Wade?’ says Peter kindly, and Wade opens his brown eyes again, the look in them slightly dazed. ‘Shut up?’

Wade shuts his mouth and nods, and then, possibly just for something to do, he pulls Peter tight against him, running his hands up his back under his t-shirt and kissing his neck. Peter puts his arms around Wade in turn, the touch of chapped lips and rough fingers enticing another moan from him.

Suddenly he’s on his back on the couch, and Wade is kissing him again, pushing his t-shirt up and sliding his fingers across his skin.

‘So soft,’ he murmurs, moving to kiss Peter’s chest. ‘Your skin . . . It’s so soft and warm and you’re so gorgeous, fuck . . .’ He flicks his tongue out over Peter’s nipple, and Peter gasps. ‘So fucking hot,’ Wade mumbles into his skin. He kisses lower and lower until he reaches the lining of Peter’s jeans. Then he looks up at him with earnest brown eyes. ‘Can I . . . ?’ He seems to hesitate, and then stutters out the rest of his request. ‘Can I, just, I want to touch you . . .’

Peter’s never been the type to go to third base on the first date, but nothing about this is typical. He draws in a deep breath and licks his lips before nodding. ‘Okay.’

Unbuttoning Peter’s jeans, Wade pulls them down past his hips before sliding his fingers into the waistband of his boxers. His hands are shaking with apparent nervousness as he pulls down Peter’s boxers as well, to reveal his dick.

‘Beautiful,’ he murmurs, and takes Peter in his hand, stroking slowly. Peter’s head falls back and he groans. Wade’s rough, strong hand feels so good. His touch makes everything else melt away, and Peter shuts his eyes for a few moments, revelling in the feel of it.

Then Wade’s hand is replaced with something warm and wet, and Peter’s eyes shoot open.

Peter doesn’t swear, not in any way that matters. He generally limits his exclamations to the kindest and least offensive words he can come up with. He doesn’t like swearing, was brought up not to do it. It is a testament, therefore, to how amazing Wade’s mouth is that Peter, without thinking, cries, ‘Holy shit!’ He looks down at Wade, at his soft brown eyes, in awe and amazement. Then Wade does something with his tongue, and Peter whimpers, one hand clutching at the seat cushion underneath him and the other cradling Wade’s bald head. ‘Oh, God . . . Wade . . .’

Wade responds to the sound of his name with a groan that seems to reverberate through Peter’s dick and into his whole body. Peter hasn’t been touched by anyone but himself in months, and though this is far from his first blow-job, he’s pretty sure he’s never had one quite like this. Wade appears to have no gag reflex, swallowing Peter whole. Peter’s warning of, ‘Wade, stop, I’m gonna—’ is too late, and his body stiffens and stills as he comes in Wade’s mouth with a loud groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about cutting it there, but the chapter was getting super long, and I want the next bit of this scene from Wade's POV anyway, so it made sense. Would you believe this isn't the first time I end a chapter on a premature ejaculation? :P Thanks so much for reading! <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you all for your amazing support and love! I'm overwhelmed! <3 A slightly shorter one, but I hope you can forgive me. Also, features a guest star! :D

Wade swallows, the taste of cum salty and bitter-sweet on his tongue, and hums appreciatively.

_Kink list entry #3458: Semen._

**Mmm, semen . . .**

Wade ignores the voices in his head, and instead looks down at Peter, who’s staring up at him from where he’s sprawled on the couch, wide-eyed and panting. He looks dishevelled, his fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead and hair sticking up at the back. He’s never looked more gorgeous. His pupils are blown and he blinks slowly.

‘Sorry!’ he says suddenly, coming back to his senses and sitting up. ‘Oh, God, Sorry, sorry, sorry!’

‘What for?’ Wade asks.

‘I, I should have warned you or, or . . .’ Peter looks away. If he were a puppy his ears would be drooping in shame. It’s adorable. ‘I feel like such a kid.’

‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry about,’ says Wade flatly. ‘And you’re not a kid. That would be gross. Anyway, the whole point was to make you cum, duh.’ He watches Peter’s face flush scarlet with great relish and grins at him, shaking his head. ‘You are so hot!’

_I still say we’re dreaming. Shit like this just doesn’t happen to us._

**I dunno. Semen tasted pretty real to me.**

‘Shut up,’ Wade mutters, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling.

Peter appears to have regained some of his composure, however, because he’s smiling shyly again now, and soon he’s kissing Wade once more, greedily licking into his mouth, and his hands make their way down Wade’s body, touching him through the fabric of his suit.

‘Well, then I guess I should return the favour,’ he murmurs. Without ceremony, he unbuckles Wade’s belt and slips his hand down his pants, groping, and Wade hisses, closing his eyes.

‘Fuck, Peter . . .’

‘I’m not . . .’ Peter seems to hesitate. ‘I mean, I’ve never—’ He makes a frustrated noise and gives Wade’s dick a few loose strokes. ‘I don’t think I can do more than this for now, I’m sorry.’

Wade shakes his head. ‘Sorry? Ain’t no sorry, Petey, this is awesome. I mean, shit . . .’ His breath hitches. The touch of Peter’s hand feels like the good kind of fire, strong and intense, and so hot. Then Peter rubs his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading pre-cum over it, and Wade lets out a loud, drawn out, ‘ _Fuck_!’

His hips buck, and Peter presses his lips to his throat, teeth scraping over his Adam’s apple. Wade isn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he reaches out for the boy before him, sliding one hand into his hair and touching that beautiful face with the other. He brings Peter’s face close and kisses him.

**There is so much kissing going on, like when do we get to the fucking?**

_When Spidey’s good and ready for it. This is his show. And we’re about to cum, anyway._

**We are? When?**

_Right about . . . Now!_

Wade shudders and groans, jizz spilling out of him, covering Peter’s hands and staining the suit. Peter is gaping at him, as though astonished that he could make that happen. When it’s over, and Wade has relaxed somewhat, Peter lifts his hand curiously to his mouth, licks at a strand of semen, and makes a face. 

Wade laughs breathlessly. ‘Acquired taste.’

‘Mm.’ Peter wipes his hand on his t-shirt. Then he stands up, pulling his pants back on, and walks over to the kitchen counter to get a roll of paper towels. He grabs a few and hands the roll to Wade, and they clean themselves up a little. Then they sit back down on the couch. Their glasses of orange soda are still sitting on the coffee table, hardly touched.

‘So, that was pretty awesome,’ says Wade, to break the silence. ‘I mean, wow. You give good hand jobs, dude.’

Peter chuckles softly. ‘I’m glad you approve. I mean, I wanted to . . .’ His cheeks turn slightly pink. ‘Well. Next time.’

Wade feels a jolt go through his stomach and chest. ‘So, there’s gonna be a next time?’ he asks, his voice a little higher than he means it to be.

‘If you want to,’ says Peter softly, looking intently at his glass.

Wade laughs. ‘You’re seriously asking me that? Man, I can’t even . . . Petey-Pie, you’re the hottest, most awesome person I’ve ever been around. Shit, if I had my way I’d never do anything other than make out with you.’

‘Yeah?’ Peter glances at him with his hazel eyes and smiles. ‘It _was_ pretty awesome,’ he admits after a moment. ‘I mean, God, your mouth . . .’

‘They don’t call me the Merc with the Mouth for nothing,’ Wade shrugs.

_While that’s true, I don’t think our mad blow-job skills were first on people’s minds when they came up with that particular moniker._

**Well, it will be now.**

Peter bites his lip. ‘So . . . You’ve been with a lot of guys, then?’

Wade scoffs. ‘Have you seen me, baby boy? You think I get laid a lot?’ He pauses. The truth is he has no idea how many people he’s been with, of either gender. Pre-Weapon X, his memories are still hazy, and post he still hasn’t figured out exactly which memories are real and which were put in his head by Butler, or how many the Tabula Rasa drug has made him forget. He’s paid for sex more than a few times, out of loneliness or sheer frustration. He knows that’s true, because the trail of money is easy to follow.

He sighs. ‘Look. I flirt with people, and I’m good at it, but usually, once I show my face, people run for the hills, right? I’ve got no illusions about what I look like. I used to have this holo imager thing that could make me look normal for a bit, purely cosmetic, but I lost it ages ago. Wish I could give you something nicer to look at than this mug.’ He smiles sardonically.

Peter just shakes his head, though. ‘Don’t even talk like that. In case it hadn’t already occurred to you, I couldn’t care less about any of that. I think you’re totally hot!’ He reaches out and cups Wade’s scarred cheek. ‘You gotta believe me, Wade.’

Wade swallows, and when he speaks it’s with a lump in his throat, and he thinks his voice sounds weird. ‘I’d probably believe anything you say, except maybe that.’

‘Well, then I’ll just have to make you believe,’ Peter murmurs and leans in to kiss him again.

* * *

Entering his apartment at five in the morning, after talking and making out and just hanging with Peter all night, Wade immediately and instinctively knows that something isn’t quite right. He halts in the doorway, searching the darkened room.

_We’re not alone._

There’s something—someone—on his couch, sitting quietly in the dark. Wade puts his right hand on the hilt of one of his blades and reaches for the light switch with his left. He relaxes his grip on his sword as the light reveals the figure on the sofa.

‘Wade,’ says a deep, growling voice.

Wade closes the door behind him and saunters over to the battered old fridge in the corner of the room. The actual kitchen is a bio hazard zone and he hasn’t been in there since he moved in. He takes out two beers and tosses one to his guest, who catches it effortlessly.

‘Logan,’ he says at last, twisting the cap off his bottle. ‘Long time, no see. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’

Wolverine takes a sip of his beer, making a grimace. He’s in civvies, jeans and a tank top under an open, grey and black checkered flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looks like a short, furry lumberjack. ‘I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I’d drop in, see how you were doing.’

_Oh, sure. Wolverine just wanted to ‘drop in’._

‘Oh, I’m just peachy!’ Wade grins, leaning against the wall. ‘How are you? How’s that charming, homicidal son of yours?’

Logan sets down his beer and rests his elbows on his knees. ‘Still homicidal.’

‘Good for him! Now, enough with the small talk. Why are you really here?’

Logan scratches the back of his head and sighs dramatically. ‘Why do I ever seek you out on purpose? There’s trouble brewin’, Wade, and I’m pretty sure it’s comin’ your way.’

**Ooh, trouble! We like trouble!**

_Little bit of trouble never hurt anyone with a healing factor as sick as ours._

Wade snorts and takes a swig of his beer. ‘That’s it? There’s always someone after me, Logan. Wouldn’t have it any other way. It keeps things interesting. What, did someone order a hit on me again?’

Logan shrugs one shoulder. ‘Dunno. Haven’t checked. What I do know is I fought a guy a few days ago who had some interesting things to tell me regarding Weapon X, that there are serious anti-mutant and mutate vibes going on, that mutants are losing their powers all over the place, and that shit storms like this always seem to catch up with _you_ sooner or later. Thought I’d give you a heads up.’

Wade raises an eyebrow and smirks. ‘So, what, it’s team-up time again?’

Logan scoffs. ‘Hell no. I got my own shit to deal with, and you seem to have a decent team-up going on right now anyway.’

Wade grins. ‘Yeah, Spidey’s been teaching me to be a hero!’

Logan raises a bushy eyebrow. ‘That so?’

‘Yeah. And he’s got my back if shit blows up. I’m not too worried.’

‘You sure about that?’ Wolverine sniffs the air. ‘Smells to me like you got someone else to worry about for once, even if you’re not worried about yourself. You say he’s got your back, but have you got his? Unless my senses are failin’ me, you got Spider-Man’s scent all over you.’

**Uh-oh. Busted!**

Wade looks away. ‘Whatevs! You have any idea how creepy that smell thing of yours is?’

Logan shrugs. ‘Jussayin’. As someone who’s been straddling the hero-villain fence for most of your life, you’re the embodiment of what these anti-mutant assholes fear the most; heroes going bad.’

‘But I’m not even a mutant! I’m a mut _ate_!’

‘Think those fuckers know that, or care? And as long as this little team-up of yours continues, you’re putting Spider-Man at risk, too.’

‘Yeah, well . . . If you’re so worried about all this, you should go talk to your Dark Avenger boy about it, Logan. He oughta be a prime target.’

‘Already done. Why’d you think I was in New York in the first place?’ Logan drains his beer bottle in a few gulps and stands up. ‘Well, it was nice catchin’ up. Go easy on the kid, won’t you? Seen him fight. He’s good people.’

Wade’s expression softens. ‘Yeah. He is.’

Logan gives him a non-committal wave and saunters over to the door. Wade watches him go, eyes narrowed. Logan wouldn’t show up unless he actually think it’s important. Wade knows that, and the thought makes him uneasy.

_So, should we be worried?_

**No! We’re not worried! Are we?**

‘Not worried,’ says Wade slowly. ‘Just . . . Cautious. Best keep my eyes open.’

_And watch Peter’s back a little extra._

**Yeah, but we do that anyway. His back is right above is ass.**

_True dat._

Wade sighs and shakes his head. No use worrying about it all right now. He hasn’t slept in a few days. Now might be a good time to catch some shut-eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to put in an off hand mention of Daken there, because he's seriously the hottest thing to come out of the Marvel universe since, well, Wade. <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, you guys are utterly awesome and I love you all! <3

‘They call themselves the Anti-Mutant Defence League,’ Domino is saying. ‘There’s nothing particularly special about them, they’re one of dozens of human anti-mutant supremacist groups, except these guys are starting to have a real voice. They’ve got some kind of backer, someone who’s quietly financing their activities. It’s like they’re ever present. Whenever there’s been a disaster where mutants or superheroes were even remotely involved, regardless of how, they’re always there, picketing or whatever. At the same time, there’s wide-spread violence against known mutants, perpetrated by, ironically enough, masked vigilantes. They’re well outfitted for vigilantes, though. Officially the AMDL condemns these attacks, but if you delve deep enough into the darker corners of the Internet, you can dig up some pretty disturbing stuff posted by their members. Everything from organised harassment and threats of violence and rape, to actual planned attacks on specific mutants. Pretty chilling.’

Wade switches his phone from one ear to the other and looks out his window at the darkening horizon. ‘Logan seemed worried.’

‘He is, and he has reason to be. It’s been hushed up, but a few days ago there was an attack on a young mutant girl, barely ten years old, by so-called assailants unknown. Her powers had just manifested, there were talks with her parents about getting her to the Jean Grey school. It was . . . It was brutal. Shit they did to her . . .’ Domino’s voice sounds strained, angry. ‘When they were through they left her to be found in a parking lot. Physical injuries were moderate, but she hasn’t said a word since.’

‘They went after a kid?’ Wade asks darkly. ‘The fucking . . . Who are they? Who do I kill?’

Domino sighs. ‘We don’t know yet. Don’t do anything rash, Wade. This has to be handled right. We’re dealing with normies here, and if we go after them like we want, they’ll just use it as proof that we’re just as dangerous and unpredictable as they say we are. Just keep your eyes open. Logan’s right, someone like you should be high on their list. They won’t care if you’re a mutant or a mutate. If you really want, I’ll try and keep you posted on developments.’

‘Yeah, you better,’ Wade growls. ‘If there’s gonna be a reckoning I want a piece of that action.’

‘Look out for your buddy Spider-Man, too. I don’t think he’s on their shit list yet, but they definitely don’t like him.’

‘Oh, trust me. Those fucks wanna get at my Spidey, they have to go through me. No one hurts him and lives.’

He can hear her wry smile in her voice. ‘ _Your_ Spidey, huh? Well, good luck with it. I gotta go. Take care of yourself, Wade.’

‘Yeah. You too.’ Wade hangs up.

_Well, that was an illuminating conversation._

**Peter won’t like it if we kill these guys, though.**

‘Well, I’d rather have Peter mad at me than dead.’

_Though neither would be preferable, right?_

**Definitely. We should go for neither dead nor angry Peter. We should go for fucking Peter instead.**

_Or being fucked by Peter._

Wade shakes his head. ‘Pete ain’t that kind of boy. He runs this show. We’re not pushing any of that until he’s ready for it.’

**That’s not very like us.**

_Sure it is. Kink list entry #43: Consent is sexy._

Wade nods in agreement. ‘Word.’

* * *

‘Spidey!’ Wade drops to his knees next to Peter, who sits up with a groan, rubbing the back of his head. ‘You okay, baby boy?’

‘Hey, I’m king of okay,’ says Peter. He glances at the bank robber who’s bleeding on the ground, clutching at a stab wound in his side and moaning in pain. ‘Did you really have to stab him?’

‘Oh, bitch bitch bitch!’ Wade waves a hand dismissively. ‘You want some cheese with that whine? He’ll be fine, I avoided any vital organs.’

Peter nods once. ‘Okay.’ Then he lets Wade help him to his feet.

The gesture of trust, his acceptance that Wade didn’t hurt the guy too badly, is touching. It makes Wade want to grab him and kiss him, but he knows this isn’t the time or the place.

**He trusts us! Our Petey trusts us!**

_I know. I worry for his sanity._

Peter approaches the bank robber. He pulls the man’s hand away from the stab wound and shoots a wad of webbing at it, effectively stopping the bleeding, at least temporarily.

‘Get off me, you mutie asshole!’ the guy growls through his balaclava.

‘Not actually a mutant,’ says Peter calmly. ‘Though if you’d rather bleed out, be my guest.’

The bank robber shuts up, and Peter webs him up with his partner, who’s lying unconscious a few feet away. Then he approaches the wounded security guard. Thankfully, the bank robbers were shitty shots. The gunshot wound is in his leg, and was enough to knock him off his feet and, unfortunately, drop his gun, but he should be just fine in time. Peter helps him get to a chair so he can sit more comfortably, and seals up his wound with webbing too.

‘Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man First Aid Service,’ he quips. ‘Cops on their way?’

The guard nods, wincing slightly as he tries to move his leg. ‘Hope they’re bringing an ambulance. Deadpool, we should split.’

Wade nods, wiping the blood off his blade. ‘Right you are, princess.’

They leave the bank, Peter letting Wade on his back and web-swinging them a few blocks away from the scene, coming to land on a roof top. Wade climbs off Peter’s back and puts his arms around his waist, pulling his back to his chest.

‘You’re so hot when you’re saving lives,’ he murmurs, and Peter chuckles, placing his hands on top of Wade’s and squeezing.

‘Only then, huh?’

‘Nah, you’re hot all the time,’ Wade concedes. ‘Man, you make me wanna—’ He cuts himself off.

**Put his dick in our mouth?**

_Lick his sweet asshole?_

**Fuck him until he screams?**

‘I make you wanna what?’ Peter asks, turning around to face him. He pulls his mask up to his nose and presses his lips to Wade’s still covered neck. ‘What is it you want?’

Wade grunts, unsure of how to respond, unsure about what it is he actually wants. If he’s honest, there are a million things he wants from this gorgeous boy who’s now so impossibly close to him. They range from the innocent to the obscene, from the vanilla to the deeply kinky.

‘Wade?’ Peter’s soft voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

Wade clears his throat. ‘Hell, Pete . . . I got what I want right here.’

Peter smiles and, pushing Wade’s mask up to liberate his mouth, captures his lips. The kiss goes on for some time, and Wade can feel his body responding to it, to Peter’s velvety tongue filling his mouth. He wants Peter to fill him in other ways, too. It’s not something he’s used to wanting. The thought makes him moan, and he holds Peter tighter to him.

When they come up for air, Peter is clearly turned on too. He’s panting, his chest rising and falling against Wade’s, and what Wade can see of his face is flushed.

‘So,’ Peter says breathlessly, ‘wanna come to my place again?’

**Yes! We totally do!**

_Say yes. Say yes, damnit!_

‘You sure?’ Wade can’t help but ask, because this, all of it, still seems too good to be true, and now that they’re this close he’s having a hard time holding onto the idea of not pushing this, of just letting things happen at Peter’s pace, because, fuck, he wants him.

Peter just laughs. ‘No, I just asked to be polite. Would I ask you over if I didn’t want you over, Wade?’

Wade smiles sheepishly. ‘I dunno, would you?’

‘No. No, I would not. Now, do you wanna come over or not? There’s an all night Thai take-out down the block from me, if you’re hungry.’

‘Sure,’ Wade says at last. ‘I’d love to come over.’

* * *

Peter has beer in his fridge tonight, which is pretty awesome in and of itself, and the Thai food is tasty (Wade could easily eat Mexican every night, but he can understand that Peter might want to change it up), but the best part is how he climbs in Wade’s lap when they’ve eaten and proceeds to thoroughly ravish his mouth. He tastes of ginger, coconut and galangal, and he’s warm and soft and beautiful. The movement of his hips makes Wade desperately hard, and his perfect tongue makes Wade want to die, in a good way.

When Peter tugs at the hem of the top of Wade’s suit, however, Wade suddenly panics. He grabs Peter’s hands in his to stop him.

**What are we doing?**

_We’re scared to show him more of our body, duh. We’re ugly, remember?_

Peter stills and cocks his head to one side, studying Wade’s eyes (he did manage to get him to take the mask off again, in spite of Wade’s misgivings). ‘You okay?’ he asks softly.

‘Yeah, fine! Totally fine!’ Wade lies.

Peter smiles. ‘Wade . . .’

_Don’t tell him what we’re thinking. It’ll make it come true._

Closing his eyes for a moment, Wade sighs. If that’s the case, this will have to be the moment of truth. ‘I guess I don’t get it, Pete,’ he murmurs. He opens his eyes again, meeting the hazel of Peter’s. ‘I don’t get how you can . . . Like me? I mean, any second now you’re probably gonna come to your senses, realise who it is you’ve been making out with . . . Or you’re gonna . . .’

_See us. Realise how ugly we are._

Peter sighs and rests his forehead against Wade’s. He gently strokes the side of his neck, running his thumb along the black collar of his suit. ‘How can I convince you?’

‘Convince me?’

‘That I like you. That I trust you. That you can’t scare me away.’

**Trust. He said trust.**

Peter takes a deep breath and straightens his back, looking down at Wade’s face. ‘My name is Peter Benjamin Parker. I’m twenty-one and I study science at Empire State, majoring in biochemistry. I’ll be graduating in the spring. Planning on a Masters in biophysics. I was raised by my aunt and uncle, May and Ben. Uncle Ben passed away when I was in high school. I like photography. Sometimes I earn extra cash selling pictures of Spider-Man to newspapers, but I haven’t got as much time for it as I used to. I’m a geek. I ramble when I’m nervous. And there’s this guy I like right now . . . He doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut either, and his morals are sometimes, shall we say, questionable, but underneath it all he has a good heart and I think he’s really hot. His name is Wade Wilson.’

He falls silent, and for once in his life, Wade can’t think of a single thing to say. Neither can his boxes. The silence is deafening. And then, because he doesn’t know what else to do and it’s what he wants, he grabs the back of Peter’s head and pulls him down to kiss him, hard. There’s nothing he can say, no way that he can express with words how much Peter’s trust means to him, so he tries to tell him with the kiss instead, with the hand on the small of his back and the one in his hair. Tries to tell him how important this is, how impossible it feels. Peter kisses him back, and when next he moves his hands to the hem of Wade’s top, Wade doesn’t stop him, lets his warm hands touch the bare skin of his torso, scarred though it is.

They end up in Peter’s bed, kissing, holding each other, getting each other off with hands and mouths. And though Wade has done all of this countless times before, everything feels somehow new, and wonderful, and a little bit scary.

The scariest part is afterwards, though, when they’re both sated and sleepy and happy, and Peter snuggles up close, turns off the light and whispers, ‘Good night, Wade.’

Wade falls asleep with his lips in Peter’s hair, and for once the voices in his head are silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, shameless plug time: I wrote a short PWP Daken/Johnny Storm thing the other day, if anyone's interested. I may write more, though this story is, of course, my first priority. :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter and Wade are in the newspaper, and a date is planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beautiful readers! I've left you hanging too long! Here now is the next chapter. I hope you like it, even if not so much happens. I wrote it longer, but it got too long so I split it in half. That means you'll get another update pretty quick, though, so yay! :D

‘We’ve made the papers.’ Peter holds up a copy of the Bugle so Wade can see it. On the front page is a photo of the two of them in costume, apparently leaving a crime scene. Wade has his left arm around Peter’s shoulder. In his right he’s carrying one of his swords. There’s clearly blood on it. The picture is taken at night, but wherever they are there’s enough light from the street lamps and nearby buildings to see them by just fine.

‘Hey, I look pretty good!’ says Wade with a grin. ‘Not as good as you, clearly, but still.’

**Pretty good? Man, we are ripped as fuck! No wonder Peter likes us!**

‘Yeah, you look great,’ Peter says. ‘This picture shouldn’t really have been taken, though. And the article accompanying it . . .’ He shakes his head. ‘It’s not good.’

Wade takes the paper from him and scans the page. ‘Why? What’s it say?’

‘Basically that the menace that is Spider-Man has teamed up with the even greater menace that is Deadpool, and that it’s only a matter of time before people start getting dead. Clearly they haven’t gotten wind of the ones that got dead already, or this piece would be a whole lot worse.’ He takes the paper back and reads out loud, ‘“Deadpool is a mercenary who operated for many years as a gun for hire, killing indiscriminately. His body count, which is not inconsiderable, includes everything from criminals to innocent bystanders, and there are few superheroes he hasn’t fought. Whether he is being paid by Spider-Man or someone else is currently unknown, but either way the public needs to ask itself what Spider-Man is doing together with this bloodthirsty killer.”’

‘Ah. Yeah, that does sound pretty bad.’ Wade scratches his neck self-consciously. Once again it seems his past is coming between him and Peter. ‘I’m sorry.’

Peter drops the paper to the concrete rooftop beneath his feet. He takes off his mask and closes the distance between them, before rolling Wade’s mask up to his nose and kissing him softly on the lips. Wade’s heart leaps.

‘Not your fault,’ Peter whispers. ‘This sucks, but we’ll deal with it.’

Wade slips his arms around Peter’s waist and nods. As much as he loves it, he doubts he’s ever going to get used to this closeness. He breathes in Peter’s scent, of soap and autumn rain, and wonders for what must be the hundredth time today alone how he ever got to be this lucky.

_Man, why does he even like us?_

**What’s not to like? We’re awesome! Did you see that picture in the paper?**

_No, we’re not. We’re a mess. We shouldn’t rule out the possibility that the past week has been one long on-going hallucination. Or maybe we’re being fed fake memories again._

Wade ignores the boxes. ‘Who, uh . . .’ He clears his throat. ‘Who wrote the piece?’

Peter shrugs. ‘Some nobody columnist called Trever Tate.’

Wade files the name away in the back of his mind for later. Clearly he has some googling to do when he gets home. If this guy’s a threat, he needs to be dealt with.

‘Well, whoever he is I think we’ve wasted enough time on him,’ he says brightly. ‘Let’s go fight some crime!’

Peter smiles and delivers another chaste kiss to his chapped lips. ‘Well, if you insist.’

* * *

Two muggings and three drunken brawls later (for a Saturday it’s pretty tame), the two of them are sitting at the edge of a roof eating hotdogs, as though eating hotdogs on rooftops at four in the morning is the most natural thing in the world. Which it is, and Peter wonders when that happened. He doesn’t mind at all, of course. At some point, this became one of his favourite things—sitting on a rooftop with Wade, sharing a meal and listening to him ramble. Another one of his favourite things involves rather less clothing and preferably a bed. The thought makes him smile, where just days ago it would have made him blush.

When Wade, for a rare moment, shuts up, Peter takes his gloved hand and entwines their fingers. He doesn’t know what they are, isn’t sure he needs to define it, but he loves this, loves having Wade near him like this, touching him and listening to his voice, even when he’s just rambling to himself. It feels silly to admit it, makes him feel like a kid, but whatever this relationship is, he wants it to continue.

‘Anyway, Logan totally set me up, let me catch him to lure his son to him. Man, amount of people who wanna kill Wolverine is almost as high as the ones who wanna kill me . . . I know, I said almost. Not selling myself short, here. Least I’m not one of them anymore.’

Peter raises an eyebrow and smiles. ‘Really?’

Wade shrugs. ‘Dude, I haven’t wanted to kill Logan in a long time. Well, not seriously, anyway. Everyone wants to kill their brother every once in a while, right?’

‘Brother?’ Peter's other eyebrow joins the first.

Another shrug. ‘We share a healing factor. Figure that makes us as close to family as I’m likely to get. Was still kind of a surprise to see him again, though.’

Peter frowns. ‘You’ve seen him recently? I didn’t know he was in New York.’

‘Well yeah, he came to—’ Wade cuts himself off suddenly, as if he’s said something he shouldn’t. ‘You know, it doesn’t matter. He stopped by to say hi is all. Daken’s in town, so he was really here to see him.’

Peter isn’t quite sure he believes that. From what he knows about Wolverine (which admittedly isn’t all that much, as he’s only met him a couple of times and only professionally) he doesn’t seem the type to make social calls. At the same time, he can’t see why Wade would lie to him, and he doesn’t want to distrust him.

Wade seems to be reading his mind, because he sighs and squeezes his hand. ‘Look, it’s really not important. There’s some mutant shit going down, so Logan wanted to give me the head’s up, cause we’ve teamed up together lots of times and he felt like he owed me or whatever. But you and me, we’re not mutants, so there shouldn’t be anything to worry about. Okay?’

Peter nods, and leans into Wade’s side. ‘So, what’s going on?’

‘Just anti-mutant groups stirring up trouble, business as usual. Shouldn’t affect us, and the X-Men and X-Force are pretty much on top of it, anyway. You’ve got enough to worry about, so . . .’ He trails off.

‘You didn’t want to worry me.’

‘Exactly.’

Peter nods again. ‘Okay. I guess I can appreciate that.’

Wade chuckles softly and shakes his head, glancing sideways at Peter. ‘You’re too good to me, baby boy.’ He cups his cheek and leans in to kiss him. He tastes like hotdogs. Peter doesn’t mind one bit. Wade’s supposed to taste like fast food.

Lips and tongues seek each other, deepening and intensifying the kiss, and by the time they come up for air Peter feels warm and flushed and there are so many things he wants. He wants to invite Wade to his place again, wants to take him into his bed and do dirty things to him. But it’s already late, and he has plans tomorrow. A sudden inspiration strikes him.

‘Hey, Wade . . . I promised my aunt I’d have lunch with her tomorrow, so I should get home soon.’ He sees Wade’s face fall slightly, and presses on quickly, ‘But tomorrow’s Sunday, and it’ll be a slow crime day anyway, so . . . You wanna just come to my place tomorrow, instead of going out patrolling? I mean, I could, like, cook or something. I’m not a great cook, but . . . Like, we could have dinner and watch some TV or whatever you want and just, well, hang.’

While Peter speaks, Wade’s face splits into a wide grin. ‘Are you asking me on a date, Parker?’ he purrs softly once Peter’s finished.

Peter grins back. ‘Yeah, I guess I am. I mean, just a night in, but . . . Do you want to?’

‘You have to ask?’ Wade kisses him again, more gently than before. ‘I’d love to.’ He lets go of Peter and stands. ‘If you’re gonna have lunch with your aunt you should probably get home and get some sleep. I’ll come by around seven?’

‘Yeah.’ Peter stands too. ‘Seven should be fine.’ He gives Wade one final kiss and readies his web-shooter. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow night, then!’ Then he swings away, giddy as a school girl, with what feels like a permanent grin plastered to his face, because tomorrow he has a date with Wade Wilson.

* * *

Wade snuggles down in his blanket fort and opens his laptop. A quick Google search reveals little of interest on Trever Tate. He has a Facebook profile with very little public information, a Twitter full of mostly civil political tweets and otherwise pictures of food, and a blog where he posts about the dangers of mutants going unchecked. He seems like your regular garden-variety anti-mutant activist.

**Impossible. He has an alliterative name. That means he has to be important.**

_Unless the writer’s just throwing us a red herring._

**Herring? Where?**

Wade follows a few links from the blog and clicks into an anti-mutant subreddit. It contains pretty much what you’d expect—spurred on by the anonymity of the net, folks are spewing vitriol and hate, though there’s an active and vocal minority who discuss civilly and reasonably. They express concern for the safety of their children, should mutants choose to abuse their powers, and calmly discuss options for subduing them if they do. There are some references to the AMDL, as well as other anti-mutant groups.

Trever Tate is among the reasonable ones. His discourse is almost annoyingly civilised, peppered with smiley faces and bland jokes, giving him every appearance of being utterly harmless.

_Unless some of these angry haters are his sock puppets._

‘Hm, a definite possibility, of course . . . Make yourself out to seem nicer by making other people appear the opposite.’ Wade closes the reddit tab with a sigh. ‘Doesn’t seem like we’re gonna find anything this way. I’m not that net-savvy, anyway.’

**We should just jerk off and then go to sleep.**

_Good idea. Masturbation always cheers us up._

It’s tempting, but Wade shakes his head. Instead, he sends an e-mail to Domino, asking her if she’s heard of Trever Tate and if she thinks he may be part of the trouble that’s brewing. Then, as he can’t think of anything else to do (as tempting as jerking off is, he’s not really feeling it tonight), he goes to sleep. He’s going to see Peter tomorrow. He needs his beauty sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did say the next update would come quick. Hope you like it, you guys! Also, OMG, I've passed 500 kudos for this story and it just feels unreal! Like, how?? I love you guys so much! <3

At one o’clock the following day, Peter goes to his aunt’s house. They chat over leftover tuna casserole. Aunt May is in a good mood, pleased to see her nephew, and more than ever Peter feels as though he never left, like everything is exactly the way it’s always been. Except that he didn’t used to have dates with former mercenaries lined up for afterwards.

‘So,’ she says, ‘has anything interesting happened since last time?’

Peter shrugs. ‘I dunno if I’d say interesting . . .’ He hesitates.

Aunt May looks at him shrewdly. ‘What aren’t you telling me, Peter?’ She reaches out and squeezes his hand. ‘You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?’

He smiles, because of course he knows that. He always could, and he can’t see why that should stop now. ‘Okay,’ he sighs. ‘Remember that friend I told you about? Wade?’ She nods. ‘Well, it’s possible that he’s . . . not quite just a friend.’

A silence follows, during which Aunt May looks at him with an expression of mild surprise on her face. Peter waits, a nervous fluttering in his stomach. Then she smiles. ‘I see. Well, you should bring him over to dinner some time, then.’

Peter can’t help but laugh. He had expected disbelief, questions, something other than this, but Aunt May’s unconditional acceptance of his choices doesn’t really surprise him so much as it confirms what a singularly kind and understanding human being she is.

‘I’m not sure we’re at the meet the family stage quite yet, but . . . Yeah, some time. I’m seeing him tonight, actually. He’s coming over. I’m cooking. Don’t know what yet.’ He feels himself blush a little, but that’s okay. Aunt May can see him blush any time.

‘You look happy,’ she says. ‘I’m glad. You deserve to be happy. I take it he’s happy, too?’

Peter laughs again at this. ‘Oh, yeah. He’s over the moon about it all. He’s . . . liked me for a long time, I guess. I never really understood that I liked him too, but I really do. It’s different for sure, but it’s nice. I’ve never . . . I mean, I’ve only really liked girls before . . .’ He trails off, because as much as he can talk to Aunt May about anything, this topic still feels a little awkward.

Aunt May waves her hand in a gesture of unconcern. ‘You know none of that matters to me, sweetie. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.’

‘Oh, I am,’ says Peter softly. ‘We haven’t really defined this yet, I guess we’re taking it slow, but . . . Yeah. I’m definitely happy.’

‘Good!’ says Aunt May brightly. ‘Have some more casserole.’

* * *

Peter buys ingredients for Bolognese on the way home. It’s probably the only dish he knows how to cook well, as he usually doesn’t have the time or the energy to cook for himself. He gets ground beef, bacon, tomatoes, onions, garlic, carrots, celery and a bottle of red wine. He considers the pots of fresh herbs, but decides against it as he doesn’t really know how to use them. Black pepper and dried oregano will have to do for seasoning.

Cooking takes most of the afternoon, but Peter’s in a good mood. He listens to music while he chops vegetables, and while the sauce is cooking he cleans up and sets the table. He’s pretty sure ‘around seven’ means ‘closer to eight’ to Wade, so he holds off on cooking the spaghetti. He’s extremely surprised therefore when his doorbell rings at five to seven. Surprised, but not unhappy. He’s even more pleasantly surprised when Wade enters his apartment in jeans and a hoodie, and without his Deadpool mask.

‘Hey,’ says Wade and smiles a little sheepishly. He’s got his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, a black one with the Avengers ‘A’ on the front.

Peter’s dressed himself in fitted black jeans and a purple button-down. He smiles back, closing the door and pulling Wade into a hug. Then he kisses him gently on the lips.

‘Hey yourself,’ says Peter, letting him go. ‘Make yourself at home. Dinner’s almost done.’

Wade seems to take in the set table, complete with a lit candle, and whistles. ‘You’re gonna spoil me, Petey.’

Peter laughs, going back to the kitchenette to put on the spaghetti. ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. You haven’t tried the food yet, and I have it on good authority that I can’t cook worth a damn.’

‘Well, it sure smells nice,’ says Wade. He takes a seat on the couch and watches Peter as he moves around the kitchen getting everything ready. ‘So, what’s cookin’ good lookin’?’

‘Spaghetti Bolognese,’ Peter replies, rolling his eyes. ‘I would have made tacos, but Mexican food isn’t exactly my forte, so then most of it would have come out of a bag. And I, you know, I wanted to cook something from scratch.’

Behind him he hears Wade hum happily. ‘You’re too good to me, baby boy. You give me home-cooked dinner and a show, what with that gorgeous ass of yours moving round the kitchen in those tight jeans . . .’

Peter snorts and turns around. ‘You’re so corny!’

‘You love it!’ Wade retorts.

Pulling his fingers through his dark hair, Peter looks away and smiles. ‘God help me, I do.’ Then, to stop things from becoming awkward, he picks the wine bottle up off the counter (he’s used just a splash in the sauce), and asks, ‘Wine?’

‘Sure.’ Wade smiles.

Peter fills their glasses and brings one over to Wade. Wade takes it from him, and then grabs his hand. Looking straight up into Peter’s eyes, he presses his palm to his lips. The gesture feels impossibly intimate, and Peter has to clear his throat all of a sudden.

They sit down to eat a few minutes later, and with the first bite Wade makes a sound not entirely unlike the sound he makes right before he comes. ‘Oh. My. God. What the fuck do you mean, you can’t cook? This is amazeballs!’

Peter can’t help but laugh. ‘It’s just spaghetti, Wade.’

‘This is not “just spaghetti”.’ Wade takes a sip of his wine. ‘This is like a taste orgasm! Gordon Ramsay can make “just spaghetti”. The finest Italian chef in New York City couldn’t make anything better than this! It’s like it was made by a housewife in Bologna! What are you laughing at, Parker?’

Peter is clutching his side and gasping for breath. ‘You’re adorable!’ he manages to get out, once he’s got his breath back. Then he looks at Wade and smiles. ‘Thank you. I’m glad you like it.’

‘I love it!’ says Wade pointedly. He takes another bite, and Peter watches him close his eyes and moan. Through his wild gesticulation, his hood has slipped off, revealing the full extent of his bald, scarred head. It’s a testament to how comfortable he must be feeling that he doesn’t seem to care. ‘Seriously, so fucking good. No one’s cooked me dinner in—hang on, did you call me adorable?’

Peter chuckles softly as he swallows down a bite of his own. It actually did turn out pretty well, if he says so himself. ‘Yeah, well you _are_ adorable.’

‘Of course I am,’ Wade says without missing a beat. ‘But I’m not used to people noticing.’

‘Well,’ says Peter, shrugging one shoulder, ‘you’ll just have to get used to me noticing.’

They finish eating to light conversation, and when all the food and wine is gone they move to the couch. Peter’s about to suggest they put on a movie or something when Wade pulls him into a tight embrace and kisses him. All other thoughts quickly vanish from Peter’s mind, and they spend a good half hour on the couch, making out like teenagers.

Finally Peter stands up and, taking Wade’s scarred hand in his, leads him towards the bedroom. He pushes Wade down on the bed and, with slow deliberation, palms him through his pants. Wade groans and shuts his eyes.

‘I wanna make you feel good, Wade,’ Peter whispers. ‘I wanna make you feel so good.’

‘Dunno how . . . you can make me feel any better than you already do . . . Petey-pie . . .’ Wade gasps out the words.

Peter only smiles, and pops the button on Wade’s jeans. He pulls them down to reveal pink silk boxers, which is simultaneously utterly adorkable and kind of hot. He touches Wade through the silky fabric and watches him squirm. Then he pulls down the boxers, too, and takes him into his mouth.

He’s wanted to do this for a while, at least since that first night Wade came over, but he’s been too nervous to go for it. Not tonight, though. Tonight he feels uncharacteristically bold and confident, and the way Wade’s body responds to his ministrations only enhances that feeling. One of Wade’s hands is in his hair, grasping but not pulling, his fist clenching and unclenching. He makes the most beautiful sounds when Peter swipes his tongue just so. Peter feels impossibly turned on.

Between moans and gasps, Wade’s mouth is running more or less constantly. ‘Oh, fuck, Peter . . . Feels so good, can’t believe it feels so good, shit . . . Oh please, Peter, please! Oh, I’m so close . . . Pete, you should really . . . Fuck, I’m gonna cum soon!’

Peter does not remove his mouth. Wade’s rambling only spurs him on, makes him want to see this through, and he does. When Wade comes with a moan deep in his throat, Peter swallows it down, lets the taste of him fill his mouth.

He wipes his lips and looks up at Wade’s face. His eyes are wide and he’s panting, fisting the sheets beneath him. ‘You’re so hot!’ Peter murmurs.

Wade laughs weakly. ‘You better get your eyes checked, baby boy.’

‘Don’t contradict me,’ says Peter calmly. He sits up properly and scoots up so he can plant his lips on Wade’s, who moans into the kiss. ‘If I say you’re hot, you’re hot.’

Wade strokes his cheek with a rough palm, and the look in his brown eyes is soft and tender. ‘Only you can almost make me believe that, you know.’

‘Just almost? I’d better try harder.’ Peter brushes his lips softly against Wade’s.

‘Best. Date. Ever,’ Wade murmurs into the kiss.

‘It’s not over yet,’ Peter responds. ‘Tell me, Wade Wilson. What do you want?’

‘You’ve already given me so much,’ says Wade softly. ‘What more could I possibly want?’

‘Not what I asked,’ says Peter. ‘Now tell me. What do you want?’

Wade seems to be debating with himself. His lips move but no sound comes out, and he looks pleadingly up at Peter. Peter runs his fingers over Wade’s scarred cheek. ‘Tell me,’ he prompts.

Wade shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath and opens them again. Finally he clears his throat and whispers, ‘I want you to fuck me.’

A flutter goes through Peter’s chest and stomach at the words, and for a moment he’s frozen. Then he crashes his lips into Wade’s again, kissing him hard. He bites Wade’s bottom lip, producing a low-pitched whine from the other. Finally, he comes up for air and, looking straight into Wade’s eyes, whispers, ‘I can do that.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, btw, you guys can like [follow me on Tumblr](http://thornwild.tumblr.com) if you want. It's full of random fandom stuff, mostly. :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is fucking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter is what it says on the tin. Enjoy, you guys! After all the love and encouragement you've given me, you've earned it. ;)

Wade could punch himself in the face. It wouldn’t be the first time. He wasn’t going to do this, wasn’t going to ask for anything. It might freak Peter out or he’s not ready for it or this will otherwise ruin a good thing.

But Peter kisses him fiercely, and tells him he’ll do it, and Wade feels conflicted. He wonders if he should take it back, if Peter now feels pressured into something he doesn’t really want to do. Because if that’s the case, he hates himself.

_Ever occur to you that Peter might want this as much as we do, Wilson?_

**What’s up with you worrying about the consequences so much all of a sudden?**

‘Wait here,’ Peter murmurs against Wade’s lips. ‘Lube’s in the bathroom.’ He gets up and shimmies out of the room, and Wade’s left on the bed, flaccid cock hanging out.

**No! What if he changes his mind?**

_Dude, why would he even have lube if he hadn’t been thinking about this? Straight dudes don’t need lube._

**Unless they’re kinky.**

_Petey isn’t kinky._

**As far as we know . . .**

‘This is a bad idea,’ Wade moans out loud. ‘If we’re fucking, I’ll have to get naked and then he’ll see . . . well, everything. What if it grosses him out? It would gross me out . . .’

**Yup. Instant mood killer.**

_But he’s seen our body before._

**Yeah, but only parts of it, never all of it at once.**

‘I’m so stupid!’ Wade covers his eyes with his hands. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid . . .’

‘Hey.’ Peter must have moved so silently Wade didn’t even hear him come in. Now he covers Wade’s hands with his own and pulls them away from his eyes. ‘Wade. You okay?’ The look on his face is filled with concern, and Wade hates himself even more.

‘Yeah, I’m fine!’ he says, voice higher than usual, and forces himself to grin. ‘A-okay, baby boy!’

Peter sits back on his haunches, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. ‘If you’re having second thoughts about this, just tell me. We don’t have to do this now if you don’t want to.’ Wade hesitates.

**Don’t be an idiot, Wilson! We’re finally about to get some! Don’t screw this up!**

Wade lets out a breath. ‘It’s not that. It’s really not that. I . . . I want this, believe me. I’ve wanted it since . . . Well. A good long while. I just . . . I mean, do _you_ want this?’

Peter laughs. It’s not a cruel or derisive laugh. It’s a kind laugh that brightens up his face with relief and mirth. ‘Are you kidding? Wade, I may not have been with a guy before, but I’m not exactly a virgin, or a prude.’ He leans down and brushes his lips softly against Wade’s. ‘I want this,’ he whispers. ‘I want _you_.’

Wade pushes himself up on his elbows and kisses Peter hard, because with all he’s done and everyone he’s been with, he can’t remember anyone ever saying that to him before. Then he pulls away, hesitant again.

‘I’ve . . . I’ve never done this before. Been on the receiving end, I mean. At least not that I can remember.’ If his skin would allow it, he would be blushing. But Peter just smiles.

‘I’ll go slow, then.’

Peter takes off his shirt and pants, leaving his boxers on. They’re purple, like the shirt he was wearing. It’s a good colour on him. Wade takes in his toned chest and stomach, and the well-defined bulge in his underwear. Any worries he had that Peter doesn’t actually want this die right then, because he’s clearly hard. Wade runs his hands up Peter’s strong arms and down his smooth torso, feeling the contours of lean muscles beneath his finger tips. Peter bites his lip and releases a low sound of pleasure when Wade’s rough fingers brush over his nipples. Then he touches the hem of Wade’s hoodie, and Wade holds his breath. Peter halts his movement.

‘If there’s any of this you’re uncomfortable with, anything you don’t want, or if you want me to stop, just tell me, okay?’

Wade gives a weak chuckle. ‘I’m just worried it’ll kill your hard-on.’

Peter laughs again. ‘Hasn’t so far, so what makes you think it will now?’

Keeping his big hazel eyes locked to Wade’s, he slowly pushes the hoodie up his torso. Wade shifts, sitting up enough that Peter can pull it off him before doing the same with the blue t-shirt he’s wearing underneath. He takes a moment to press several kisses to Wade’s collar bone and chest. The scarred skin doesn’t seem to bother him one bit. The warm softness of his lips makes Wade’s pulse rush a mile a minute, and he’s already getting hard again.

_Thank you, healing factor that gives us the sexual stamina of a seventeen-year-old._

Peter moves on to Wade’s pants next, pulling them off him the rest of the way, along with the pink silk boxers (an impulse purchase he made a few days ago for shits and giggles, and also because he thought they were nice). Peter runs his palms up Wade’s scarred legs, and they’re so warm and smooth. Wade’s breath hitches slightly in his throat as Peter strokes the insides of his thighs.

‘Come here,’ Wade says hoarsely. Peter stretches out on top of him, his hardness digging into Wade’s hip bone through the cotton of his boxers, and Wade puts his arms around him, stroking his back. Then he finds Peter’s lips, kisses him with all he’s got and squeezes his firm ass until Peter is moaning and rutting against him. When they break apart, Peter is looking down at him, pupils blown wide in the semi-darkness of the bedroom. He kisses Wade’s jaw, neck and collarbone, and moves his lips and hands down his body. Then he grabs a pillow and slides it under Wade’s ass.

Peter reaches for the lube bottle he brought back from the bathroom and settles himself between Wade’s legs. He squirts a generous amount onto his finger and begins the work of prepping him.

The initial touch tickles. The lube is cold, and Wade feels a shudder go through his body. Then Peter pushes his finger inside. Wade gasps at the intrusion.

‘You okay?’ asks Peter, not moving.

Wade nods. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Keep going.’

Peter does, and Wade throws his head back with a groan, squirming under his touch. Peter opens him up with long, nimble fingers, and it’s not at all like he hasn’t done this before. A few times he manages to curl his fingers just right, to push against Wade’s prostate, causing Wade to moan loudly and his cock to go rock hard again.

‘That healing factor’s handy, isn’t it?’ Peter says huskily when he notices. ‘You reload quick.’ When he seems to deem Wade prepped enough, he pulls his fingers out and reaches for the drawer in the nightstand, pulling out a condom. Wade swallows.

‘You probably don’t need that, you know,’ says Wade softly. ‘I mean, I can’t get diseases, so I can’t infect you either, and . . . I mean, unless you want to wear one, that’s cool. You can decide . . . Shut up, Wilson!’ he mutters, feeling way more awkward and embarrassed than he thinks he should.

Peter drops the condom on the nightstand and smiles sheepishly. ‘Force of habit. I didn’t even think about that . . .’

Wade watches in anticipation as Peter pulls off his purple boxers to reveal his dick, and is once again struck by how beautiful he is, his proportions and angles, the tufts of dark hair trailing from his belly button down to his manhood. Wade exhales slowly, trying to calm his frantic heart.

Peter lubes himself up, and then positions himself before pushing inside.

The pressure is amazing. A little painful, and so, so good. Peter stops every once in a while, to make sure Wade’s okay, moving inside inch by inch. Then, with one fluid roll of his hips, he sinks in to the hilt, and they both gasp simultaneously, and then laugh.

‘You okay?’ Peter asks for what must be the millionth time, and strokes Wade’s cheek with the backs of his fingers.

Wade takes his hand and squeezes it. ‘Yeah. I’m good.’

Peter smiles, a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘Yeah, you are.’ Then he pulls out a little and thrusts back in with a groan, biting his lip. ‘Oh, my God . . . So good!’

They go slow for a while, getting used to each other. Wade is almost surprised at how much he’s enjoying this. Getting fucked by Spider-Man has been a long time fantasy, but he’s never actually taken the time to consider whether or not he would actually like being on the receiving end of anal sex. Now that he is, he wonders how he’s managed to forego it for so long, because this is pretty fucking awesome.

He moves his hips in time with Peter, pushing back against his thrusts. He looks up at his face, his closed eyes, the pink tint in his cheeks and the sweat on his brow, and thinks that there is nowhere he would rather be right now. This moment is perfect.

‘Shit, Peter,’ he murmurs when Peter opens his eyes again. ‘You’re so fucking beautiful.’ He slides his palms down Peter’s back and cups his ass. ‘What are you doing here with me? How the fuck did I get this lucky?’

Peter gives a hard thrust in and holds still. Wade thinks he can feel him pulsing inside him. ‘I’m here because I want to be,’ he says softly. ‘I’m here because I want you.’ He lowers his body down until their torsos are flush together and his weight rests on Wade, and delivers a wet, passionate kiss to his lips. Then he says, ‘Now, is there anything in particular you’d like me to do?’

Wade licks his lips and laughs softly. ‘Fuck, baby boy . . . You asking?’

‘I’m asking. Tell me what you want.’

Wade lets go of Peter’s ass. He finds his hands on either side of his torso and entwines their fingers. ‘Well, in that case,’ he whispers, and he’s somehow no longer nervous, meeting Peter’s eyes, ‘I’d like you to hold me down and fuck me into the mattress.’

Peter smirks. Squeezing Wade’s hands, he puts his full weight on them and raises himself up. He pulls almost all the way out, and then thrusts back in, hard. ‘Like this?’ he gasps.

Wade nods through a groan, because he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

‘And this?’ Peter repeats the movement, putting yet more force behind it.

‘Fuck! Yes . . .’ Wade whimpers. ‘God, yes! Please! Don’t . . . Don’t hold back!’

‘I dunno if you’ve noticed,’ says Peter, thrusting in again, ‘but I am really strong.’

‘I dunno if you’ve noticed,’ Wade repeats, ‘but I can take it.’

Peter stills, and seems to study Wade’s face intently. ‘You sure about this?’

Wade gazes up at him, taking a few steadying breaths. ‘Fuck yeah.’

Peter nods once. ‘Okay.’

The next few minutes are a blur of sensation. Wade feels like his entire body is aflame, and soon he can’t keep quiet, every thrust eliciting a moan or gasp or shout. Peter is fucking into him with abandon, his eyes shut tight and his thrusts accompanied by heavy breaths.

‘Shit, Wade,’ he gasps, forgetting not to swear, ‘you feel so good! So tight and beautiful for me, God . . . I’m not gonna be able to keep this up for much longer.’ He meets Wade’s eyes and the look on his sweaty face is wild. ‘You wanna cum?’ he asks, voice rough and husky.

Wade can do nothing but nod, and Peter lets go of one of his hands, reaching in between them and taking hold of Wade’s dick.

‘Then cum for me,’ he whispers, giving a few rough strokes, and Wade does so with a loud groan. Peter doesn’t stop, fucks him through it, and then his movements become erratic, his hips bucking wildly, and he shouts and collapses on Wade’s sticky chest.

Wade puts his arms around Peter and hugs him tight. He strokes his sweaty hair back with his fingers and when Peter finally lifts his head to look at him, kisses him gently on the lips.

‘That,’ Wade declares in a low rumble, ‘was awesome!’

Peter chuckles and buries his nose in the crook of Wade’s neck with a sigh. ‘Yeah, that was pretty good,’ he agrees. He takes a few deep breaths, tickling Wade’s marred skin, and props himself up on his elbow. He smiles gently down at Wade and runs his fingers along his jawline. ‘You feeling okay?’

Wade laughs. ‘What, awesome not good enough for you? I feel great, honey-buns.’ He shifts a little. Peter’s still inside him and both their stomachs are sticky with Wade’s cum.

Peter seems to have noticed that as well. ‘You want a shower? There are fresh towels under the sink.’

‘Sure, a shower sounds nice,’ Wade admits. Then, ‘You could come with me, you know.’

‘Yeah?’ Peter smiles and kisses Wade’s cheek. ‘Sure, I’ll come with.’

They disentangle from each other and Peter pulls out of him. Wade feels oddly empty with him gone. They walk naked, hand in hand, to the bathroom, and Wade feels too blissfully happy to even notice the stark contrast of his own scarred, red tinged skin next to Peter’s flawless alabaster complexion. They clean each other up and make out under the stream of hot water. Then they go back to bed (‘Don’t worry about the cum-stains, I’ll just change the sheets tomorrow,’ Peter assures him) and slip under the covers naked, curling up in each other’s arms.

Before sleep claims them both, Peter kisses Wade softly on the lips and whispers, ‘Good night.’

‘Good night, baby boy,’ Wade replies in a tired murmur, and before he knows it, he’s fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't suppose any talented artists out there would be interested in making some fanart for this? I can't draw well for shit, and I have no money, so I can't commission anyone, but if anyone feels inspired or whatever, any moment in this story is up for grabs. Just putting it out there. Don't know if that's rude...


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are pancakes and musings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I told you guys lately how fantastic you all are? No? Well, you are! Fantastic and awesome and amazing and the best readers anyone could ever ask for! I love this fandom! <3

Peter wakes up in Wade’s arms and smiles to himself. The last time Wade slept over he was gone before Peter woke up, but now the ex-merc has his chest and stomach pressed up against Peter’s back, his slow breathing tickling the back of Peter’s neck. Peter glances at the alarm clock on the night stand. It’s only six thirty, and his first lecture doesn’t start until ten today. He is at first surprised that he’s even awake, but then he realises that they actually went to bed fairly early last night, exhausted from their . . . activity.

Since it’s so early, Peter wants most of all to just go back to sleep, but he does kind of need to pee. He shifts, trying to remove himself from Wade’s embrace without waking him, but upon his movement, Wade pulls him tighter to his chest and Peter discovers morning wood pressing quite insistently against his asscheek.

‘Mm,’ Wade protests sleepily. ‘Warm . . . Stay here.’

Peter chuckles softly and caresses Wade’s arm with his finger tips. ‘I kind of need a piss, though.’

‘So do I, but it’s not like I’m gonna be able to with this hard-on anyway.’ Wade slips his hand slowly down Peter’s stomach. ‘In the spirit of solidarity, I think it’s only fair that you help me out, here. It’s basically your fault that I’m like this, anyway. Wiggling your ass against me all night.’ He finds what he’s looking for and gives Peter’s half hard cock a few languid strokes. Peter hisses.

‘That’s just cruel,’ he mumbles.

‘No it’s not,’ Wade replies. ‘Besides, coming when you need to pee can be pretty intense.’

Peter rolls his eyes and then rolls over onto his back. He looks up into Wade’s soft brown eyes, and Wade bends his neck to kiss him lazily and sloppily. Morning breath and all, the kiss makes Peter feel warm in all the right places. Then Wade rolls on top of him and grabs both of their dicks in one large hand. Peter throws his head back and moans.

It doesn’t take long. The point isn’t to make it last, after all. Wade comes first with a gasp and a moan, and Peter follows seconds later with a shudder. Wade rests his forehead on Peter’s, and they just lie there for a few moments, coming down. When Wade finally flops over onto his back with a satisfied sigh, Peter starts getting up.

‘I said it first, so you’ll have to wait.’

‘We could go together. We could cross the streams!’ Wade suggests, grinning widely.

Peter laughs and shakes his head. ‘Sounds potentially messy. I think I’ll take a rain check on that.’

‘Suit yourself,’ says Wade, crossing his arms behind his head. ‘I can hold it.’

Peter goes to do his business, and when he gets out of the bathroom again he finds Wade standing stark naked in his kitchen, peering into his fridge. ‘You want pancakes, baby boy?’ he asks. ‘Man, I haven’t made breakfast in ages. My kitchen is not safe to cook in . . . It’s seriously roach city.’

Peter smiles. ‘Sure.’

Wade makes excellent pancakes, as it turns out. It’s nice to sit down and eat breakfast for a change. Most mornings Peter falls out of bed five minutes before he has to leave home, so he doesn’t get to have breakfast very often. He tells Wade this.

‘Aww! I’ll come make you pancakes every morning so you don’t have to go to school hungry, snookums! I’ll even get some top grade Canadian maple syrup for next time.’ Wade grins. Peter smiles around a bite of pancake.

‘Well,’ says Wade when they’ve finished eating and are clearing away the dishes, ‘I guess I should fuck off soon, so you can get ready for school, huh?’

Peter finishes drying a plate and puts it in the cupboard, shrugging one shoulder. ‘Well, I mean, you can hang out here if you want, I don’t mind.’

Wade giggles. Actually giggles, like a twelve-year-old girl. ‘You mean I could be like your little wifey and clean your apartment and have dinner on the table when you get home?’

Peter feels himself blush. ‘I didn’t really mean—’

‘That would be so awesome, Petey-pie!’ Wade throws him a huge grin. ‘I should really head home, though. I mean, I’ve got shit that needs doing. Gun maintenance, suit repair, online stalking of one Mr. Ryan Reynolds . . .’

Peter shakes his head and smiles, turning his back on Wade to put away the last plate. Arms encircle him from behind and pull him into a tight embrace, skin against skin. Peter's in pyjama pants. Wade's wearing his jeans and not much else yet.

‘See you tonight?’ Wade murmurs in his ear. ‘For patrol and then maybe a little R&R after?’

Peter turns around and kisses him on the lips. ‘Definitely.’ He strokes Wade’s upper arms, feeling the play of muscles under his palms as Wade tightens his fists in the fabric of Peter’s pyjama pants. ‘You know, I was really nervous about last night.’

‘Really? You didn’t seem like it, not even a little.’

‘Well, once we got started it didn’t seem like there was much point being nervous anymore. I mean, you seemed to like it.’

Wade chuckles and brushes his lips against Peter’s neck. ‘You bet your sweet little ass I did.’

‘I guess mostly I was worried that you’d find me boring.’

Wade pulls back a bit and searches his face. ‘Why would I find you boring?’

Peter laughs softly. ‘Because I’m almost painfully vanilla? And you somehow strike me as, well, not.’

Wade seems to consider this for a moment. He smooths back Peter’s hair absentmindedly and chews his lip. ‘It’s true that I’ve got a kink list a mile long,’ he admits at last. ‘And yeah, there’s a lot of that stuff that I’d like to try out with you some time, if you’re up for it. But Petey,’ and here he looks straight into Peter’s eyes, ‘that shit, it’s just icing, you know? Actually, scratch that, it’s not even icing, it’s just decoration. Not even the spun sugar ones, I’m talking little plastic cake decorations that you can’t even eat. And you’re the cake. Right now, when we’re in bed together, you’re my main kink.’

A brief silence follows, during which Peter realises that this may be the closest Wade has ever come to a declaration of love when there’s any chance at all that his feelings may be returned. He does the only thing he can think of, and captures Wade’s mouth in a deep and lasting kiss.

‘Likewise,’ he murmurs when they finally break apart. With great regret he releases Wade and takes a step back towards the kitchen counter. There is nothing he’d rather do than skip all his classes today and take Wade straight back to bed, but these lectures are important. ‘I should go get ready.’

Wade nods. ‘Yeah. I’ll get out of your hair. See you tonight, baby boy!’

* * *

It’s been a long time, a really long time, since anyone has looked at Wade, at his bare skin, without showing disgust. The scars and sores and scabs usually outright scare people away. His appearance been insulted, laughed at, and has even caused a couple of people to vomit. Nobody has looked at Wade, really looked at him, and seen just another human being since . . . Well, since before Weapon X. Before the cancer.

That’s what makes Peter so remarkable. That he looks at Wade and sees just Wade. He doesn’t seem to mind or care about the way he looks. He doesn’t draw away. Doesn’t recoil in disgust. He touches Wade’s skin, on purpose, and can still get it up. That alone is incredible.

**Hey, remember that poor rent boy in Vegas? He was so freaked out when we took off our pants he couldn’t go through with it.**

_Yeah, but we paid him anyway. Wasn’t his fault. Natural reaction, really._

It’s why it’s so hard to believe Peter sometimes. Because how can it be true? How can anyone look at Wade and not care how ugly he is? Wade has no illusions about how he looks. The world won’t let him. He knows he’s hideous. He’s not ashamed of it, exactly. It is what it is. But he doesn’t like it when people stare too much, and he doesn’t like scaring them.

**That’s a lie. We love scaring people! Just not necessarily all the time.**

_We should be dating Daredevil instead. That would make this whole thing not an issue as he can’t see anyway. It would be great!_

Wade sighs and unlocks the door to his building.

‘Good morning, Mr. Wilson!’ a cheery voice greets him. It’s Mrs. Rodriguez from two doors down. She smiles brightly at him. She’s got her son in tow, a tiny little thing no more than three.

Wade pulls his hood forward, making sure his face is in shadow and returns the smile. He doesn’t want to scare the kid. He’s shy. ‘Morning, Mrs. Rodriguez. Morning, Max!’

Max looks up at him with large brown eyes, and then he grins widely. ‘We’re going to the park!’ So, less shy today, then.

‘That’s awesome. Do they have swings there? I love the swings! When I was a kid I used to compete with my friend in who could get higher up. I always won, cause he chickened out.’ Wade has no idea if this is a real memory or not, but he’s not sure it matters.

‘Max likes the slide, don’t you, Max?’ Mrs. Rodriguez smiles fondly at her little boy and ruffles his hair.

‘Matteo does too!’ Max squeaks happily.

‘Matteo’s his friend he plays with at the park,’ Mrs. Rodriguez explains.

**It’s weird calling her Mrs. She’s like ten years younger than us.**

_She’s someone’s mom. That makes her Mrs. Besides, she calls us Mr. Wilson._

‘What about you? Been out for a morning stroll?’ she asks.

Wade shrugs. ‘Spent the night at a friend’s place.’

‘A friend, huh?’ She smiles even more brightly. ‘Good for you! Well, we should get going before too many big kids occupy the slide.’

‘Have fun!’ Wade waves them off and heads off up the stairs.

It’s weird having neighbours who recognise him and talk to him. He did background checks on everyone in the building when he moved in, so he knows who they all are. Mrs. Rodriguez is a nurse, while her husband’s a dock worker. Usually they manage to make the shifts work out so someone can be at home with Max at all times, though sometimes he has to stay with a neighbour for a couple of hours, or Mrs. Rodriguez has to bring him to work, as they can’t afford daycare. They asked Wade once, but he had to explain that his apartment isn’t exactly child friendly. He was touched that they asked, though.

_See? It's not just Peter. The Rodriguezes don't care what we look like either._

**Yeah, but they don't know the extent of it. They've never seen us without our hood up.**

Wade enters his apartment and sits down with his laptop in his blanket fort. It boots up slowly. He may need a new one soon, but he likes this one too much to replace it until he absolutely has to.

Domino has replied to his e-mail.

 

_Wade,_

_We’ve been able to dig up pretty much exactly what you did on Trever Tate. Whoever he is, he’s kept his nose clean. He’s definitely a member of the AMDL, but it seems he’s neither a shock trooper nor the brains of the operation. He attends protests but has never thrown a brick, and his opinions are radical but not original. He’s a mouthpiece for the cause and not much else._

_We’re keeping tabs on him, though, just in case he turns out to be trouble. I’ll keep you posted. We’re also trying to figure out where he got the photo for his opinion piece in the Bugle from. You’ll be the first to know when we do. Until then, you and Spider-Man should pay attention a little extra and make sure no one follows you home. Especially Spidey._

_Logan sends his love. And by love I mean he asks me to remind you that he’ll kick your ass into next Tuesday if you fuck this up and get your boy killed. Or yourself for that matter, at least in the way you don’t come back from._

_Watch your back._

_Domino_


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, I've passed 10k hits, I can't fucking believe it! You guys are so awesome! Here, have an extra long chapter! <3

‘. . . we have Trever Tate, the journalist who wrote the controversial piece in the Daily Bugle last week linking Spider-Man with the mutant mercenary Deadpool. Welcome, Trever!’

Wade’s gonna be so pissed when he hears he was referred to as a mutant, Peter thinks. He watches as a handsome man with strikingly blue eyes shakes hands with the host. He’s pretty sure he’s seen him at the Bugle’s offices at some point or another.

‘Glad to be here, Kate,’ the man says, flashing a bright smile.

‘There have been a lot of reactions to your article, some bad, some good.’

‘Haha, well that’s how it always is.’

Peter sighs and picks up the remote. He should just change the channel. Nothing good ever comes from watching press about himself.

‘What most people fail to understand is that Deadpool is a dangerous and wildly unstable individual. He’s responsible for death and destruction on a scale beyond what most super villains accomplish.’

‘And yet the X-Men, Avengers and SHIELD all just let him walk around.’

‘That’s exactly what’s so odd, yes. Why has no one tried to stop him? Personally, I believe all of these organisations to be corrupt.’

Kate turns to the camera. ‘But the people Spider-Man and Deadpool have helped tell a different story.’

The picture changes, to a middle aged security guard on crutches. ‘Those bank robbers would have gotten away with a lot of cash if those boys hadn’t showed up, and who knows what they would have done to me. I owe them my life.’

A young, blonde man’s face fills the screen. ‘The store where I worked was held up. Deadpool just strode in, cool as anything, and distracted the guys emptying the register while Spidey took out the one holding the customers hostage. Deadpool got them to take their guns off me so I could get out of the way. He took like a whole clip to the chest and was still standing, it was [bleep]-ing sick, man!’ He grins.

The picture changes again, this time to a dark-haired woman with her face blurred out. ‘Deadpool and Spider-Man saved me from a gang-rape. If it weren’t for them . . . I owe them everything. They’re making our streets safer.’

Back to Kate and Trever sitting in their comfy chairs. ‘It sure sounds like they’ve been doing some good in the world. Is it possible that Deadpool’s changed his ways?’

‘Look, even a broken clock shows the right time twice a day, you know? Thing is, even bad people can do good things, and even good people can do bad things. I’m not questioning Spider-Man’s _intentions_ , but he keeps odd company, and I have to wonder about how this partnership came about. And psychotic murderers don’t just change their ways over night, Kate. It’s just a matter of time before he starts killing again. And that’s the problem, with mutants in general and most masked vigilantes. Here we have these superhumans with incredible strength and power, and can we really trust them with that power? I worry for the safety of American families, and so should you.’

Kate turns to the camera again and smiles, showing perfect white teeth. ‘Well, I’m afraid that’s all we have time for today. Tune in tomorrow for—’

Peter turns the TV off just as the doorbell buzzes. Wade’s supposed to come over so they can eat together before patrolling. He grins and goes to buzz him in and unlock the door. A minute later, there’s a knock on the door to his apartment. Wade doesn’t usually knock, he tends to just walk right in. Peter opens the door, and stares.

Mary Jane Watson gives him a small smile. ‘Hi, Peter. Is . . . Is this a bad time?’

Peter swallows. He wants to tell her that any time is a bad time, but this is the first time he’s seen her in over six months, and his voice doesn’t seem to work like it’s supposed to. He wordlessly takes a step back, and she walks inside.

She stands in the middle of his living room, facing him. She looks the same, her red hair perhaps a little longer. She’s dressed for fall in New York City, in knee high black boots and a checkered miniskirt over brown tights.

‘You look good,’ she says at last. ‘How have you been?’

Peter clears his throat. He’s wearing frayed jeans and a purple hoodie, and is pretty sure he doesn’t look especially good at all. ‘Fine,’ he says.

‘Yeah, you’re always fine.’ She takes off her gloves. ‘How’s school?’

‘What are you doing here?’ Peter asks, ignoring her question.

She blinks. ‘I just . . . I wanted to see how you were doing.’

‘And an e-mail or a text were out of the question?’

Mary Jane runs her fingers through her long hair and sighs. ‘You can ignore an e-mail or a text,’ she mumbles. ‘Look, I just, I’m sorry about the way we left things, okay? I was rash, and I’m sure you’re angry, it’s just . . . It was like you never got over Gwen, like I was still living in her shadow, and I . . . But that’s not why I came here. To throw blame around. I came because . . . Peter, I still—’

He holds up a hand to silence her. He doesn’t want to hear the end of that sentence. ‘I’m not angry,’ he says quietly, and is surprised to find that he’s telling the truth. ‘I’m past that. I spent a lot of time being angry and sad and all of that, but I’ve moved on.’ He gives her a significant look, one he hopes exudes finality.

‘You . . . You’ve moved on,’ she repeats. ‘Is there . . . Have you found someone new?’

‘Yes,’ says Peter, without hesitating.

‘Oh.’

Just then, the door to the apartment flies open and Wade strides inside. ‘Hey, Petey-Pie! Your neighbour let me in downstairs. How’s—’ He stops, head cocked to one side, looking at Mary Jane. ‘Who’s this?’

‘Wade, this is Mary Jane. Mary Jane, this is Wade.’

Wade puts down the bag he’s carrying. It gives off a clatter of metal and wood and plastic. No doubt it contains his Deadpool suit and weapons. He reaches out a scarred hand towards Mary Jane and smiles warmly. ‘Good to meet you!’

She takes a step back, taking in his marred face and athletic build, eyes wide. She does not take his hand, and Wade’s grin falters.

‘Mary Jane is my ex,’ says Peter. ‘Wade is my boyfriend.’

Wade looks at him in astonishment. ‘I am?’

To illustrate his point, Peter grabs Wade’s hand and entwines their fingers. ‘So you see, MJ, I really have moved on.’

He would feel sorry for her. The hurt expression on her face makes his stomach do painful things, because he really never wanted to hurt her. But then he sees the horror in her eyes when she looks at Wade, and his pity vanishes like vapour. Wade’s had enough people look at him like that in his life. Still, he keeps his voice soft and as kind as he can when next he speaks.

‘I think maybe you should go.’

She snaps out of her thoughts, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment, and nods. ‘Uh, yeah. I probably should. I’ll . . . See you around, maybe.’

‘Yeah. Take care.’

She pulls her gloves back on, walks over to the door, opens it and is gone. Wade whistles.

‘Well, that was awkward,’ he says. ‘She’s hot, though. We could have asked her to stay.’ He flashes Peter a wicked grin, and Peter smiles in spite of himself.

‘That chapter of my life is over,’ he says, walking over to the bag of groceries he left on the kitchen counter. ‘Believe me.’

Wade crosses his arms and regards Peter with a quizzical expression. ‘So . . . Boyfriend?’

Peter blushes. It felt like the thing to say at the time, but now it occurs to him that maybe Wade would have liked to have a say in how they define their relationship. He starts taking groceries out of the bag, ingredients for chilli. ‘Yeah, I . . . If you want to be . . . I mean, I don’t need any labels, we can just go on like we are, which is all kinds of awesome. What I mean is we don’t have to be boyfriends if that’s not, if you’re not comfortable with—’

A pair of strong arms encircle his waist from behind, and Wade pulls him tight to his chest, his lips brushing the back of Peter’s neck. ‘I’ve never had a boyfriend before,’ he murmurs. ‘I haven’t been anyone’s boyfriend in a really, really long time. But if you want me . . . I’d love to be yours.’

Peter turns around, finds his lips and kisses him fiercely. ‘Of course I want you!’

Wade laughs softly. ‘No “of course” about it, baby boy. But I’m glad . . . Boyfriend.’

* * *

After dinner they end up in bed, as has pretty much been their routine for the past week or so. It makes Peter happier than he can properly express that Wade no longer flinches when Peter tries to remove his clothing. He now seems almost entirely unperturbed by revealing his body. When Peter touches him, runs his fingers over his marred skin, Wade closes his eyes with a soft sigh, his chest rising and falling, lips open. And when he has Peter naked before him he gives him this look of admiration and astonishment, like he still can’t quite believe it, and murmurs, ‘Beautiful. So beautiful.’

Wade crouches between Peter’s legs, lifts his ass off the mattress with his hands and takes the length of him into his mouth. Peter throws back his head with a hiss, tries not to thrust up into Wade’s mouth, but it’s hard. Very hard. He tries to breathe normally, but then Wade does something with his tongue that makes him whimper and squirm, and Wade chuckles around his dick.

Peter grabs his shoulder and gasps, ‘Stop! Wait . . .’

Wade lets go at once and looks up at him with concern in his eyes. ‘You okay, Petey?’

Peter nods and relaxes his grip on Wade’s shoulder. ‘Yeah, I’m . . . I’m fine. I just . . . Didn’t wanna cum yet.’

Wade smiles. ‘That’s what this is about?’ He takes him into his hand, slowly stroking. ‘So you do have a kink.’

‘Huh?’

‘Orgasm denial.’

Peter feels his face flush. ‘It’s not really that . . . I just . . . I don’t want it to end.’

Wade cocks a non-existent eyebrow. ‘We’ve got at least three hours before we need to go on patrol, baby boy. Nothing’s gonna end. No, this is about you and that thing you’ve got about holding back. So come clean, sweet cheeks. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.’

Peter licks his lips and looks away. ‘Well . . . I guess when I hold back, it feels even better when I let go. You know?’

Wade nods. ‘Yeah. I know exactly.’

‘Wade?’ Peter locks eyes with his lover—his boyfriend—again. ‘Will you . . . Will you top tonight?’

Wade blinks his brown eyes. ‘I . . . You sure?’

Peter nods. ‘Yes. I’m . . . I’m sure. Please?’

‘Well,’ says Wade, in barely more than a whisper. ‘When you ask so nicely, how can I say no?’

He scoots to the edge of the bed and takes the lube from the nightstand. Then he kisses Peter deeply and thoroughly. Peter can taste himself on that kiss, and that’s more of a turn-on than he ever thought it would be. Then Wade kisses and licks his way down his torso. He gives his dick a teasing lick before squirting some lube onto his fingers.

This is clearly something that Wade has done before, and he is extremely skilled at it. ‘That’s it, baby boy, just relax . . . You’re doing great. Breathe. I’ll make it so good for you, I promise!’

And then he’s inside Peter, filling him, and Peter can do nothing but gasp and groan because it feels that good, like heat spreading through his body, and they’re still for a moment. Peter waits, and Wade lowers his body so they’re flush together and kisses him before he begins to move.

‘Oh, Petey . . . Your ass is magnificent! So fucking tight, God . . .’ He pulls almost all the way out and rolls his hips, thrusting back in.

Without thinking, Peter all but whines, ‘ _Fuck_!’ He’s clinging desperately to Wade, the feeling simultaneously too much and not enough.

Wade laughs softly in his ear. ‘You should cuss more, Pete. It’s sexy as fuck. I love it.’ He presses his lips to the sensitive skin just behind his earlobe. ‘You’re so hot, Peter, so tight and beautiful, shit . . . How’d I ever get this lucky?’ He kisses every part of Peter’s face he can reach, his cheek, his forehead, his nose, his eyelids.

It’s easier to relax now, but the warmth of it, the way Wade fills him up still makes him tremble, and with every thrust he squeezes Wade’s arm or waist, or grasps at the sheets, his breath coming in ragged gasps because how is it possible to feel this much at once?

‘Wanna cum yet?’ Wade murmurs.

Peter shakes his head. ‘You . . . You first.’

‘That’s boring. Same time?’

Peter laughs in spite of himself. ‘Think you can pull that off?’

‘Baby, I’m so close I could shoot any second. Do you have any idea how hot you look right now?’

‘Probably . . . Probably about as hot as you look when I’m fucking you?’ Peter gasps.

Wade makes a purring noise deep in his throat. ‘There you go cussing and being so sexy again, Petey . . . How’s a fella meant to hold back?’

He makes a particularly hard motion with his hips, and Peter moans loudly because that thrust was perfectly angled. Wade reaches down between them and grabs Peter’s cock, stroking it slowly at first and then picking up speed. He locks his gaze to Peter’s and Peter decides that he’s not giving in, not looking away and not coming first.

Peter grits his teeth, tries to fight the feeling building in his lower abdomen and threatening to take over, to make him lose control. He clenches his muscles, trying to fight it. Apparently, this makes his ass tighten around Wade as well, because his lover groans and swears loudly. It’s almost like they’re up on the roof of Wade’s apartment building again, sparring, trading blows. It’s a competition, and one of them is going to lose.

Peter lost that time, and he realises as Wade rubs his thumb over the head of his dick that he’s going to lose again. He only tries to fight it for a moment longer. Then he throws his head back and lets go, his breath catching in his throat as he finds his release. To his surprise, Wade seems to let go at the exact same moment, and they ride it out together.

After, they clean themselves off with tissues, and Peter lies down with his head on Wade’s chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. Wade runs long, strong fingers through Peter’s hair and kisses the top of his head softly.

‘If you wanna sleep for a bit I can wake you when it’s time to patrol,’ he tells him softly.

‘Mm, I am kind of tired,’ Peter admits. He hesitates for a moment, considering his words. Then he says, ‘That journalist, Trever Tate, he was on TV today. He was interviewed about his article about us.’

‘Really?’ Wade sounds disinterested, but Peter can feel the muscles of the arm he’s resting on tightening ever so slightly. ‘What did he say?’

Peter shrugs one shoulder. ‘Just a bunch of crap. They called you a mutant, of course. And then he talked about how bad people don’t just turn good or something like that. He wasn’t very convincing. But they’d talked to a few other people, too. The security guard from the bank last week, a clerk from a convenience store we saved, an almost rape victim, dark haired girl, remember her? And they all said they owed us, that they might be dead if it weren’t for us. It was . . . Nice.’ He raises his head and looks at Wade. ‘We’re making a difference. We really are. We’re saving people. _You’re_ saving people, Wade, and they’re grateful to you for it.’ He smiles. ‘I just thought you should know that.’

He gives Wade a soft kiss before resting his head on his chest again, and then, confident that Wade will wake him when it’s time to go out, Peter allows himself to drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, Peter was kind of a dick to MJ... I feel kind of bad for her now, cause I actually do like her as a character. And, as promised, here's some Top!Wade as well, because I'm a big fan of variation.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my beautiful readers! 700 kudos! I'm so happy! <3

**Told you Peter was kinky.**

_Orgasm delay is hardly a kink._

**I’m sure there’s more where that came from. It’s always the cute, innocent looking ones, you know?**

Wade rolls his eyes. One day his brain is going to stop arguing with itself, but today is not that day, it seems. When he looks down at Peter’s sleeping form he can almost block out the noise, though. Almost.

**At least we know our dick is bigger than his.**

_What? No it isn’t! We’re almost exactly the same size!_

**Almost exactly the same _length_. We have more _girth_.**

‘Shut up!’ Wade groans quietly, and Peter stirs next to him.

_Oh, well done, Wilson. You woke him up._

Peter’s hazel eyes open a crack and look up at Wade in the semi-darkness. ‘Hey,’ he murmurs, and lifts the hand resting on Wade’s chest, bringing it up to gently caress his cheek. ‘You okay?’

Wade smiles. ‘I’m always okay. How are you feeling?’

‘Sore,’ Peter admits with a grin. His fingers wander up to Wade’s temple. ‘Busy up there, huh?’

Wade pulls Peter tighter to him, because it somehow means a lot that Peter can tell. He sighs into Peter’s messy hair. ‘When is it ever not? Busy, busy. You quiet it some, though.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ Wade lets out another breath, closing his eyes for a moment and breathing in the scent of Peter’s hair. ‘Man, I don’t get it . . . I’m fucked up, Petey. I mean severely fucked up, like I shouldn’t even be functioning. Hell, half the time I don’t, not really. I’ve done so many fucked up things, my body is a mess, my brain is . . . Let’s not even talk about my brain. I don’t get why someone like you would want to be with someone like me. Why, when you could have someone like whatserface with the red hair and legs up to her tits?’

Peter presses a soft kiss to Wade’s cheek. ‘Because I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone other than you.’ Wade tries to pretend those words don’t put butterflies in his stomach and utterly fails. Peter sighs. ‘Besides, MJ and I . . . It was never quite right. From the start it . . .’ He trails off and bites his lip. ‘Do you even want to hear about this?’

Wade shrugs one shoulder. ‘Can’t say I’m not curious. Only if you wanna talk about it, though.’

Peter nods. ‘Okay. So, freshman year I started dating this girl, Gwen. She was . . .’ He pauses, and seems to consider his words carefully. ‘She was the prettiest girl I’d ever met, and the kindest. You know, she was just one of those genuinely good people.’

**Like our Peter.**

_Bless him._

‘Yeah, I know the type,’ Wade murmurs fondly, pressing his lips to Peter’s temple.

‘She died,’ Peter says softly. His voice isn’t sad, exactly. More like melancholy, but accepting. ‘I couldn’t save her and she died. And while I was grieving her, MJ comforted me. And then comforting became flirting. She still had a boyfriend, even . . . That whole thing happened too fast, man. And that soured everything. About six months ago, she dumped me. She said it’s because she felt like she was still living in Gwen’s shadow, like I never got over her. Truth is, I never gave myself time to, and neither did she. I guess when someone you love dies like that, you never truly get over them, not the way you do when you break up or drift apart . . .’

‘Of course not.’ Wade runs his fingers through Peter’s hair. ‘And you’re not supposed to. She’ll always have a place in your heart. That’s just the way of things.’ He kisses the top of Peter’s head and smoothes back his hair. Cuddling is something he can definitely get used to.

‘You’re really insightful sometimes.’

‘I know, I surprise myself, too. What can I say? I’m smarter than I look. Not as smart as you, obviously, Dr. Genius McSmartypants.’

Peter laughs and shifts so he can reach Wade’s lips with his own. His tongue is like velvet, lips so soft, and he tastes so sweet, even through his I-just-woke-up-breath. ‘We should probably get out there soon,’ he whispers against Wade’s mouth. ‘Let’s go grab a shower.’

Wade smiles. ‘Hey, you know me. I’m always up for a shower.’

* * *

Patrolling is so much more fun when you’re freshly fucked and giddy. They break up a few fights, stop a couple of muggings, and Wade even gets to threaten a couple of bad guys with his guns. It’s a good night, and Wade knows he’s staring at Peter’s ass a little more than usual, but it’s only because all he can think about is how much he wants to go back to Peter’s bed for an encore of the evening’s earlier activities when they’re done. All in a day’s work when you’re working with (and fucking) Spider-Man.

It’s two in the morning and they’re about to do just that when a cry for help reaches them. They follow it to an alley (and isn’t it always an alley?), and a young man comes running out just as they reach the mouth of it.

‘Hey!’ Peter yells after him as he rushes down the street. ‘What—’

Wade puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘Uh, I don’t think he was the bad guy.’ He points.

In the dim light of a neon sign he can make out at least ten people, maybe more. They’re all dressed in black, and from what Wade can tell they’re all armed.

**Ooh, a real fight!**

‘And here I was so ready to go home, have a cup of tea and go to bed,’ says Peter with an exasperated sigh.

‘We’ll do that after,’ says Wade, drawing both his swords. ‘This looks like fun.’

One of the men in the alley pulls his gun just as Wade takes a step forward. Peter leaps out of the way, clinging to the wall of the alley. Wade takes a bullet to the chest.

‘Hey!’ he shouts indignantly. ‘You shot me! I should shoot you right back for that!’

‘Deadpool!’ Peter calls, an edge of warning in his tone.

Wade rolls his eyes. ‘Fine.’ He walks forward, into three oncoming bullets. ‘I guess I’ll just stick to hack and slash.’ And the fight is under way.

Now that they’re moving, Wade can count thirteen. They’re all wearing ski-masks, and their black attire appears identical, like a uniform. The get-up makes them look vaguely ninja-esque, but they haven’t got the moves of ninja. Several of them are big, though, and strong looking, and they all have guns, but in the close quarters of the alley they seem reluctant to fire them in case they hit their comrades. Wade and Peter don’t have that problem.

Peter is dodging, somersaulting, clinging to walls and thwipping webs at the baddies to trip them up or try to disarm them. Wade tries to avoid mortally wounding anyone, hitting them with the back edges and flats of his blades where he can.

**If we’re gonna keep not killing, we should get backwards blades, like Kenshin.**

_Man, that was such a great anime . . . The live action movie left something to be desired, though._

**Yeah, but the actors were hot!**

‘Mutie bastards!’ Wade hears one of the bad guys shout. ‘Get Spider-Man!’

‘Oh, no you don’t!’ Wade hits the man who spoke in the throat with the grip of his sword and he staggers backwards, gasping for breath.

A gunshot rings out, echoing between the brick buildings, and Wade feels a stabbing pain in his back. Two more shots follow.

‘Keep Deadpool busy!’ another man shouts.

Wade turns around to find three guys coming at him with guns blazing. Behind them, he can see Peter jumping up onto a fire escape, shooting a web at someone’s gun and removing it from play.

‘You think the three of you can keep me busy?’ Wade taunts. ‘You won’t last ten fucking seconds!’

He knocks the closest off his feet by swinging the flat of his blade low. The other two fire six rounds into his chest before he manages to disarm one and knock the other back with an elbow to the ribs. A fourth guy comes at him with a long knife, but Wade has swords. In the split-second he has he considers just slicing off the hand that holds the knife, but decides against it. Peter wouldn’t like it. Instead he presses the back of his blade to the man’s throat and grabs his arm, twisting it and effectively disarming him. A swift kick in the ribs sends him flying.

Another shot echoes through the night. It takes Wade half a second to realise that this one wasn’t aimed at him. It takes another half second to register the cry of pain that follows it. There’s a second shot, and it dawns on him, too slow, like his brain is coated in honey and the world is too fast.

_Peter’s hit. They got Peter._

With a furious roar, Wade rushes through the throng like a linebacker, tackling them out of the way, until he reaches the back of the alley, a dead end, and sees Peter on the ground, bleeding profusely from his shoulder.

_Is he breathing?_

**Is he alive?**

Wade stares down at Peter’s prone form. He could be sleeping, like he was five hours ago when he was lying in Wade’s arms. The horrible thought hits him that Peter may never sleep in his arms again, may never kiss him or laugh at his bad jokes, never look at him like the scars aren’t even there, ever again, and Wade wants to cry. He wants drop to his knees, check his pulse, make sure he lives, but there are nine men behind him still standing, and he doesn’t think they’re gonna stop coming. He turns around.

‘That,’ he growls, ‘was a really stupid thing to do!’ He points one of his blades at the nearest of them, one of the guys Peter already managed to disarm. The tip stops an inch from his throat. ‘I’m gonna give you fucks one chance to lay down your weapons and surrender.’

‘What are you guys waiting for? Shoot him!’ the man with Wade’s sword at his throat shouts frantically.

‘Wrong answer!’ says Wade darkly. He leaps forward and thrusts the tip of the blade straight through the man’s throat. It comes out the back of his neck covered in blood. Through the holes in his ski mask, Wade can see the man’s eyes popping. He pulls the blade back, and the man crumples to the ground with a gurgling noise and is still.

Now everything happens at once. The dead man’s comrades raise their guns, those who have them, and those who don’t come rushing at Wade with knives, fists, whatever they’ve got. Wade drops the sword in his left hand and draws his sidearm, intermittently firing at the ones furthest away while slashing at the ones nearest.

The next few minutes are a blur. Wade moves methodically, cool as ice while under the surface wildfire burns. He doesn’t try to spare them this time. Behind him lies Peter, bleeding and perhaps already dead, and these are the fucks that hurt him. They will pay with their lives. He ignores their screams, their cries of pain. He ignores the voices in his head telling him that Peter would not want this. He ignores everything else as he ends them, each and every one.

When it’s over he’s standing in a pile of corpses, covered in blood, the stench of death and viscera filling his nostrils. At this moment, it’s familiar, almost comforting. This at least is something he knows. Then reality washes in over him, like a wave of nausea. He sheathes his weapons and staggers back to where Peter is lying. Still. Too still. Wade takes off his glove and sticks two fingers, shaking with adrenaline, under Peter’s mask. He can feel a weak pulse at his throat. He’s still alive, but barely. He has to get him out of here, now.

Wade is about to lift Peter’s prone body when he hears a noise at the mouth of the alley. Without thinking he draws his gun again and points it. ‘Out where I can see you!’

It’s the young man from earlier. His eyes are wide and he holds his hands in the air.

**A victim?**

_No. A victim would have called the cops, or at the very least run away. This guy? Bait._

‘Come closer,’ Wade commands. He cocks the hammer on his gun. ‘Now!’

The kid does as he’s told. He’s Peter’s age, probably a little younger. He looks terrified. He stops a few feet away, the blood on the ground staining his white sneakers red.

‘This was a trap,’ says Wade. ‘I’ve figured that out already. You’re with these guys. Some of them may still be alive. I don’t rightly give a fuck. Whether you survive this is entirely dependent on you answering my questions. Understood?’ 

The boy nods.

‘Good. Was this a trap for us specifically or were you hoping for any old superhero?’

‘It-it was for y-you,’ the young man stutters.

‘Who are you people? Who do you represent?’

‘Th-the Anti-Mutant Defence L-league.’

‘And how would I go about finding the folks in charge of your little gang?’

The kid shakes his head, mouth opening and closing comically. ‘I-I don’t know, I swear! I’m new, totally junior!’

**He’s lying!**

_No, he’s telling the truth. Look at his face, his body language. Kid’s shitting himself. He couldn't lie right now if his life depended on it._

Wade takes his gun off the kid and holsters it. ‘Fine. I believe you.’ He stands up and picks Peter up in a fireman’s lift. ‘When you talk to your contacts, you tell them they’ve made a huge fucking mistake. You tell them that Deadpool will find them, and end them. Nobody comes after Spider-Man on my watch. Nobody. Got it?’

The kid nods frantically. Wade pulls up Peter’s sleeve and detaches his web-shooter. He straps it to his own wrist and uses it to hoist them up onto a fire escape. He climbs to the roof with Peter over his shoulders, and then sets about parkouring his way north across the city's rooftops, towards the Bronx.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, you guys, I am so sorry it took so long to finish this chapter! I've had a bit of a depression relapse, and suddenly it's not so easy being creative anymore. That's a really bad excuse for leaving you guys hanging on that cliff I left you on, though. So sorry!!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been reading and commenting and leaving kudos and all that. I love you guys like Wade loves Peter! <3

It’s dark. It’s pitch-black, and there are sounds in the darkness. Rustling and shuffling, and a voice humming quietly. He wonders why it’s so dark, and why it’s so hard to move, and what that smell is. Then a sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder makes its presence known, and he realises two things: that the smell is alcohol, and that it’s dark because his eyes are closed.

With great effort, Peter opens his eyes. He’s met by a cracked ceiling with a few suspicious looking stains on it. Blinking twice, because it’s hard to focus, he lets his gaze slide from the ceiling onto a bare brick wall to his left. Looking to the other side, his gaze falls on a worn couch, a chair, a large TV, a standing lamp and a thick, orange shag rug. The yellow light of street lamps creeps in through windows he can’t see from his current vantage point. He knows this place.

In addition to the stabby pain, Peter feels a dull ache in the front of his head and his temples, though in truth, now that he’s taken the time to notice, he realises that his entire body hurts. He also realises that he appears to be nearly naked. The blankets feel soft on his bare skin, though he seems to be wearing underwear.

His ears pick up the sound of humming again, and recognise the tune as something from a Disney film. He looks for the source of the sound, and at the foot of his mattress he notices a figure in a slightly blood stained Pantera t-shirt, cleaning a few metal instruments with disinfectant wipes. Wade.

‘Hey,’ says Peter. At least that’s what he means to say, but his throat is so dry it comes out as an inarticulate croak and he coughs weakly.

Wade looks up from his work, brown eyes wide with surprise. Then he drops the forceps he’s holding and they fall to the floor with a clatter. He scoots closer and takes Peter’s hand. ‘You’re awake,’ he mumbles. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d . . . I worried.’ He lifts a glass of water from the floor and brings it to Peter’s lips to let him drink.

The cool water running down his throat is the most wonderful thing Peter has ever felt. After a couple of blissful sips he takes a deep breath and asks, ‘What happened?’

‘You got shot.’ Wade’s eyes are still wide. He looks almost shocked, like he can’t quite believe Peter is speaking to him. ‘Twice, in the shoulder. One of the shits that attacked us had steady aim. I took the bullets out and stitched you up while you were out.’

Peter notes that his shoulder is indeed bandaged in clean, white gauze, and raises his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You fixed me?’

Wade shrugs one shoulder. ‘I couldn’t exactly take you to a hospital. Didn’t leave me a lot of options, really.’

‘You could have taken me to the Baxter building,’ Peter points out. ‘Reed’s stitched me up a whole bunch of times.’

The ghost of a smile flutters across Wade’s features. ‘I know how to patch up a bullet wound, Parker. Besides, if I’d showed up there carrying a Spider-Man full of holes, Richards and his little gang would have thought I put them in you.’

Peter gives a soft laugh and winces at the fresh pain it provokes from his shoulder. ‘Point taken.’

‘Here.’ Wade reaches for a brown paper bag at the foot of the mattress and pulls out a small, orange plastic container full of oblong white pills. He takes two out and brings his hand to Peter’s lips. ‘Prescription strength. Open wide.’

Peter opens his mouth and Wade tips the pills inside before offering more water. Peter swallows the pills without hesitation. ‘Guess it’s too much to hope that these were legally obtained?’

Wade shrugs one shoulder. ‘I know a guy. Believe it or not, I need pain relief sometimes, and the regular over the counter kind don’t cut it. I can’t exactly go to a doctor, so . . .’ He takes Peter’s hand again and lifts it gently, pressing his knuckles to his lips. ‘I am so fucking glad you’re alive, Petey,’ he all but whispers. ‘For a moment, I thought—’ He cuts himself off, looking away. ‘It wasn’t so bad, though. Bullets hit mostly soft tissue, didn’t shatter any bone or damage the cartilage. You should be back in fighting shape again soon. It’ll probably scar, though. I’m sorry.’

Peter smiles softly, and does his best to squeeze the hand holding his. ‘Thank you, Wade,’ he says emphatically, because more than ever he really means it. ‘What is that, the fifth time you save my life?’

Wade grins. ‘I dunno, I lost count. Anyway, you don’t need to thank me. A world without you in it is just . . .’ He trails off and shrugs again, shaking his head.

Peter feels his eyelids begin to grow heavy once more and supposes the painkillers must be kicking in. Wade’s bed is a soft nest of pillows and blankets. It feels almost like floating on a cloud. ‘As soon as I’m better I’ll thank you properly,’ he murmurs sleepily. ‘I think I’m gonna go back to sleep now . . .’

‘Of course, baby boy,’ says Wade, kissing his hand again. His warm, rough lips feel soothing and familiar on Peter’s skin. ‘You just rest now. I’ll be right here.’

* * *

‘An’ you’re sure it was the AMDL?’ Logan’s voice is its usual gruff self over the phone, but Wade thinks he can hear a hint of emotion in it. Worry, perhaps?

_Yes, because Wolverine has such a good track record of showing concern for our wellbeing._

Wade ignores his mind. ‘Yeah. The bait came back. I threatened him. He told me who they were.’

‘You didn’t kill ‘im?’

**Come to think of it, why _didn’t_ we kill him?**

Wade pauses for a moment, glancing over at Peter’s sleeping form. ‘No,’ he says at last. ‘I let him go. He was unarmed. Just a lackey.’

Logan gives a deep grunt in response. ‘That’s unlike you.’

‘Yeah. Guess I’ve gone soft.’

‘Seems your boy’s been good for ya. Glad you managed to keep ‘im alive, bub.’

‘I still murdered the shit out of all the others,’ says Wade quietly. ‘I’ll have a hell of a time explaining that to him once he thinks to ask.’

‘Yeah, well, he ain’t like you an’ me, Wade. Two of us, we gotta fight our nature. Him . . . He’s the real deal. A better angel.’

‘You don’t have to tell me that.’ Wade sighs. ‘So, you’ll follow up on the intel?’

‘Ain’t much to go on,’ Logan says, sounding surly as ever. ‘But we’ll do what we can. You just keep your boy outta trouble in the meantime.’ A brief silence follows. ‘Wade, I’m real sorry. If we’d known they’d gotten this big a foothold in New York City, we coulda warned ya. I’m sorry Spider-Man got hurt. He’s a good kid.’

‘He is. But it’s not your fault.’ Over on the mattress, Peter shifts and makes a small noise. ‘I gotta go. He’s waking up again. Let me know if you turn anything up, okay?’

‘Will do.’

Wade hangs up the phone and walks over to kneel next to Peter. He brushes brown hair away from Peter’s sweaty brow, and Peter opens his eyes.

‘Hey,’ says Wade.

‘Hey,’ Peter responds. He smiles, starts to push himself up into a sitting position, and winces. ‘Ow. How long was I asleep?’ He gives up and lies back down against the pillows.

Wade shrugs. ‘Couple of hours. You slept like the dead. How are you feeling?’

‘Like I’ve been shot,’ Peter deadpans.

‘Want some more painkillers?’

‘Maybe just the one this time? I haven’t got your tolerance, you know.’

Wade smiles in spite of everything. ‘Dude, I have to take like six of those for them to have the effect an aspirin would have on you.’

He administers a pill to Peter, and proceeds to fuss over his pillows and blankets for a few minutes, more for something to do than anything else.

‘So,’ says Peter after some moments. ‘What actually happened?’

‘You got shot,’ Wade repeats.

‘I know that, but I mean . . . What happened after that?’

Wade quits his fussing and sits back on his heels, looking everywhere but Peter’s face. He’s been waiting for this, but he hoped it would take a little longer for Peter to get to the asking stage.

**We could just make something up.**

_No. We can’t lie to Peter. He’ll see right through us, and even if he doesn’t he’ll find out eventually. We have to tell him the truth._

‘Wade?’ says Peter softly.

‘I—’ Wade cuts himself off and swallows. ‘I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. There were nine of them still in fighting shape.’ He pauses, swallows again, works his jaw for several moments. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and then he finally turns his gaze on Peter again, because he has to be honest about this, no matter how brutal it is. ‘I killed them. All of them. Shot some, stabbed the rest. It was quick, relatively speaking. I had to get them out of the way so I could get you to safety.’ Wade pauses again, but when Peter doesn’t say anything he barrels on. ‘When they were all dead, the kid from before showed up, the one who ran away when we got there. I got him to tell me that they were with the Anti-Mutant Defence League. Then I let him go.’

Finally, Peter speaks. ‘But you killed all the others.’

Wade shrugs. ‘Some of the ones we’d already knocked out, they might still be alive. I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t rightly give a shit.’

It’s Peter’s turn to look away now, pained expression on his face. ‘So after everything, you still don’t get it.’

Anger flares up in Wade’s stomach, crushing his lungs and tearing his heart in two. He gets to his feet before he even knows he’s doing it. ‘No, _you_ don’t get it!’ he growls through gritted teeth, and it’s all he can do not to shout. ‘I didn’t know if you were even alive, okay? I just knew that if there was any chance of saving you, any at all, I had to take it. You don’t understand, Peter! If I lost you, if I let you die when there was something I could do to prevent it, I—’ Wade bites his lip furiously and runs a hand across his scalp. ‘I couldn’t live. Okay? I couldn’t fucking live knowing that I let a light like yours go out of this world, and I would have to! Don’t you see that? I would have to live with the guilt and the heartache and all of it, knowing that you were gone, because I. Can’t. Fucking. Die! And I couldn’t cope with that.’

They stare at each other for several long moments. Wade can’t tell what Peter’s thinking, doesn’t know what’s going on behind those wide hazel eyes. In the end, Wade looks away in defeat.

‘I’ll go,’ he says softly, and all the fight has gone out of him. ‘You can stay here as long as you need to, there’s enough Mexican food and Chinese take-out in the mini fridge to feed a normal person for a week, so . . . I’ll just go.’ He starts to turn away.

‘Wade.’ Peter’s tone is firm, almost commanding, and Wade turns back to face him despite his better judgment. ‘You’re not going anywhere. Come on, come here.’

Like a moth to a flame, Wade is drawn helplessly back to Peter’s side. He crouches next to him, feeling equal parts trepidation and relief as Peter reaches for his hand and grasps it firmly in his own. He scoots closer to the wall and lifts the covers. ‘Here, get in.’

Carefully, Wade slides in next to him, pulling the covers over them both. Peter places Wade’s scarred hand on his smooth, bare chest, right above his heart.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Peter at last. ‘I have no right to judge you for doing what you felt was necessary, I just . . .’ He sighs. ‘Too many people have died because of me. My uncle? I could have stopped the man who killed him before he ever got that far and I didn’t. Gwen was kidnapped and murdered by one of my enemies and I couldn’t save her. That kind of guilt, it . . . It can make a person a little crazy, I guess. I don’t want to be responsible for any more deaths.’

‘Well, you’re not,’ Wade says firmly. ‘Those fuckers chose to attack us. They lured us there, and they had every intention of killing us. You’re not responsible for them. The assholes who sent them down that alley are. The AMDL are to blame for their deaths, and I guess I am too, to an extent. But certainly not you. None of this shit is on you, baby boy. None of it.’

Peter nods. ‘Yeah, I know. I know that, rationally. Anyway, I’m sorry.’ He turns his head and meets Wade’s gaze. ‘And I’m grateful. You saved my life, again, and you put me back together. So thank you.’

Wade feels Peter’s heartbeat under his palm. It’s strong and healthy, pumping blood and life through Peter’s body, and Wade feels something tighten in his own chest. When he speaks, he thinks his voice sounds strained. ‘Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re alive.’

Peter smiles, eyes glinting in the early morning light seeping in through the windows. ‘Kiss me?’ he asks softly, and Wade does.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, such a long wait again! I'm sorry, you guys... Things are still all ups-and-downs-like, plus Christmas and stuff, but I've finally had both time, energy and will to write some more, so you get a pretty long one. Hope you enjoy! And thanks for all the kindness you showed me after the last chapter. You are still the best readers in the universe! This fandom is amazing and I love you all! <3

When Peter wakes up he’s alone on the mattress, though the spot next to him is still warm. He blinks blearily and looks around until he finds Wade seated on the floor a little ways off, polishing his sword. Literally, not euphemistically. Sunlight streams in through the windows.

Wade appears to notice his movement, looks up and smiles at Peter. He stands, sheathing his sword and carrying it to his weapons locker next to the mattress, and then comes to sit, legs crossed, on the floor next to Peter. He runs a hand over Peter’s hair.

‘How are you feeling?’

Peter shrugs his uninjured shoulder. ‘Better than can be expected, probably.’

Wade grins. ‘Good! Any pain? Want another painkiller?’

‘Couldn’t hurt, I guess,’ says Peter.

Wade reaches for the pill bottle and the glass of water on the floor and administers an oblong white pill to Peter, who swallows it gratefully. ‘You hungry? You have the excellent choice between cold tacos and cold chow mein. I’d make you pancakes, but . . .’ He gestures towards the closed kitchen door. ‘Like I’ve said. Total bio-hazard area. When you’re up to walking I’ll take you home and make you pancakes there.’

Peter smiles wryly. ‘Way you go on about your kitchen, I’m starting to wonder if it’s just a cover-up and that’s where you stash the bodies.’

Wade snorts and gestures dismissively. ‘Nah, man! I don’t stash bodies, I scatter them like decorations, leave them for people to find. More fun that—’ He cuts himself off, looking away, his grin abruptly gone. ‘Sorry. Bad joke.’

Peter can’t help but agree, but chooses to remain silent on the matter. Instead he shifts slightly on the mattress and suddenly notices how badly he needs to pee.

‘Help me up?’ he asks softly. ‘Kinda really need to go to the bathroom.’

Wade nods vigorously and stands up. ‘Sure thing, baby boy. Can’t have you pissing yourself.’ He helps Peter gently to his feet. ‘I mean, unless you’re into that. I’m kinda into that,’ he rambles, while Peter puts his arm around his neck and they begin walking towards the bathroom. ‘Haven’t done it in a long time, though. I mean, it’s not a huge kink, just a—’ Wade stops talking abruptly. ‘You know what? Never mind. My brain has reminded me that this isn’t something you’d wanna hear about, so forget I said anything.’

‘Um, sure,’ says Peter, feeling mildly bewildered. His mind is brought briefly back to the time Wade was shot in the head and lost control of his bladder. He finds himself wondering if Wade enjoyed that. Urine doesn’t bother him, per se, but it’s not exactly a turn-on either.

They reach the bathroom and Wade opens the door for him. ‘You okay from here? Need me to hold your dick for you?’ He grins again.

In spite of everything, Peter chuckles. ‘No, I’ll be okay.’

Peter’s legs feel like jelly, so he pulls down his boxers and sits on the toilet, not trusting himself to stand. The bathroom is surprisingly clean, if cold. He’s suddenly very aware that he’s only in his underwear, his nipples budding to hard pebbles against the chill. Through the closed door he can hear Wade moving around the living room, muttering to himself. 

He sighs, resting his head in his hands. If he’s honest with himself, what Wade did still bothers him. That Wade would kill for him if the need arises has never been in question, of course—hell, Wade would probably kill for a chimichanga—but Peter had hoped that it would never come to that. Of course, he hadn’t counted on armed vigilantes coming after them, either. In Wade’s position, what would he have done? Would he have run before he would kill? Would he have found a way to dispatch the enemy without seriously hurting anyone? And in the end, does any of this really matter?

He thinks about Wade, about his muscular body and strong arms, about the way he fights and the way he fucks, and suddenly Peter’s pulse is racing and his his body is responding to vivid images in his mind. Wade kissing him, holding him, sucking him off. Wade on his back under him, or on top of him. Wade’s hands, mouth, fingers, tongue. Wade, his Wade who would do anything for him, who would die for him if he could. Peter knows it to be true. If Wade could die, he would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat if it meant saving Peter’s life. And Peter knows he would do the same for him. He just doesn’t know if he could kill for him. When did Wade become this important to him? They haven’t even been together all that long, and yet . . .

Wade’s words echo in Peter’s brain. _I couldn’t fucking live knowing that I let a light like yours go out of this world, and I would have to!_ Only the remains of Peter’s anger made him not break apart when those words were spoken. He kept it together through sheer force of will. As much as Peter has loved and been loved before, he knows that he’s never been loved like that. 

Peter manages to get off the toilet and wash his hands, before he opens the door. Wade is there almost at once, slipping an arm around his waist to support him, and Peter can’t help but smile.

‘So, how about it? You want some food?’ Wade asks.

Peter purses his lips. ‘I dunno. I don’t really feel all that hungry . . .’ 

Wade shakes his head. ‘You need to eat if you’re gonna heal, Petey-Pie. You don’t have my healing factor, remember?’

‘Yes, mom,’ says Peter, rolling his eyes. ‘Maybe just a taco, then.’

‘Of course!’ Wade helps him back down onto the mattress and goes to the fridge. ‘After you’ve eaten we should see about changing your bandage. You’ve, uh, started to bleed through.’

Peter looks down at his bandage and discovers a red stain in the gauze. ‘Huh. Didn’t even notice.’

‘Those painkillers are pretty awesome.’ Wade returns to the mattress and hands him a taco out of a paper bag. 

Peter eats mostly in silence, and Wade prattles on, sometimes to Peter and sometimes to himself, while doing something on his laptop (‘Just web-stalking Ryan Reynolds, the movie’s coming soon,’ he says when asked). When they’re done, Wade gets to work replacing Peter’s bandages. He rubs his hands up with disinfectant and removes the blood-stained gauze with great care, examining the wounds.

‘Looks pretty good,’ he says. ‘Not that I actually know much about this sorta thing, but there’s no pus or nothing.’ He cleans around the wounds with a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant. It stings, and Peter bites his lip and shuts his eyes. ‘Sorry, gorgeous,’ says Wade softly. ‘Almost done. You’re doing good.’ One of the bullet holes has started to scab over, but the other is still bleeding freely, though not too badly.

Wade puts a gauze compress over the wounds and wraps up Peter’s shoulder in fresh bandages, taking great care to get it even. ‘There, all done,’ he says when the bandages are in place, kissing Peter on the top of his head. ‘You should get some more rest.’

‘I’m not sleepy,’ says Peter, pouting up at him. He slides sideways on the mattress and pulls the covers aside. ‘Get in with me again?’

Wade gives him a gentle smile. ‘I can do that.’

Peter manoeuvres himself so he’s supporting himself on his uninjured shoulder, cheek resting on Wade’s t-shirt clad pec. Wade puts his arms around him, sliding his fingers through Peter’s hair, and Peter shuts his eyes with a sigh. Wade is warm and his touch is gentle, and suddenly all Peter wants is more of that touch. He moves closer, slips his leg over Wade’s, cranes his neck to touch his lips to Wade’s neck. His hand snakes down the front of Wade’s t-shirt and slips underneath the hem to slide across the marred flesh of his abdomen. Wade makes a small noise of surprise as Peter scrapes his teeth gently across his skin, before slipping his fingers into the lining of Wade’s pants.

‘Not that I’m complaining or nothing,’ Wade says weakly, ‘but you sure you’re up for this?’

Peter tongues his earlobe. ‘Want you,’ he murmurs. 

Wade lets out a shaky breath, the hand in Peter’s hair tightening it’s grip momentarily, and Peter can feel the larger man’s cock twitch against his thigh. ‘Okay, but then we do this my way. You’re injured, I don’t want you hurting yourself. Lie on your back, baby boy.’

Peter does as he’s told, and Wade sits up, pulling off his t-shirt and pants as he goes. Then he straddles Peter’s hips and leans down to kiss him, rough fingers caressing the skin of Peter’s neck. Peter kisses him back eagerly, wasting no time in pressing his tongue into Wade’s mouth, tasting him. There’s a lingering taste of jalapeños after the tacos. It makes Peter smile into the kiss, because some things with Wade are constant. Some things are always right.

Wade pinches one of Peter’s nipples between his fingers, and Peter grinds his pelvis up against him, his hardening dick pressing against Wade’s thigh through the fabric of their respective underwear. Wade moans into his mouth.

‘Fuck,’ he whispers, pulling back a bit. ‘Need you in me!’

Peter closes his eyes and lets out a shuddering breath, because that sounds like a really, really good idea. Wade gives him another deep kiss before he starts moving further down, lips and tongue making a trail down Peter’s smooth chest and stomach. He pulls down Peter’s boxers and all but swallows him whole, and Peter throws his head back in a loud groan. 

He loses himself in the feel of Wade’s lips and tongue on him, the warmth of his mouth, and dimly manages to think that this has to be the best painkiller ever, because through the haze of pleasure he can barely even feel the ache of the bullet wounds, or the bruises from the fight.

Far too soon, Wade releases Peter’s dick from his mouth with a soft pop and nuzzles into his pubic hair for a moment before getting up. ‘I’ll be right back, precious,’ he promises. Peter watches him walk to the bathroom. His ass looks amazing in bright blue satin boxers, and if Peter wasn’t feeling so weak he would get up, run after him and give it a good smack because, damn! 

Wade doesn’t take long to return, carrying a bottle of lube of what one might refer to as respectable in size. He takes off his blue boxers (he’s sporting a magnificent hard-on that Peter under different circumstances would long to taste) and straddles Peter’s hips again, coating his fingers in lube and getting to work prepping himself. Peter feels slightly jealous of Wade’s fingers, but watching him do it to himself is a fairly spectacular experience, and Peter gives his own dick a few strokes instead. 

Wade is at the moaning and panting stage by the time he finally lowers himself onto Peter’s cock. He’s tight and warm and slippery, and Peter bites his lip and almost whimpers with the pleasure of it. Once he’s all the way inside, Wade begins to ride him, eyes half closed as he moves with slow deliberation. Peter thinks it might be the hottest thing he’s ever seen. 

Wade gasps. ‘Shit, Pete, you feel so good! Oh, you’re perfect, baby boy, fuck!’

Peter reaches down and takes Wade’s dick in his hand, matching the speed with which Wade is riding him, and Wade moans loudly when Peter’s thumb slips over the head. He begins to move faster, and then he leans forward, finds Peter’s mouth and brings their lips together in a deep and passionate kiss. 

Peter grips Wade by the hips and fucks up into him, hard, ignoring the aches in his body, and Wade grunts, a deep and primal sound, as Peter’s thrusts hit his prostate.

‘Wade!’ Peter manages to say. ‘Wade, I’m close, God . . . So close!’

Wade looks into Peter’s eyes, pupils blown. ‘Me too.’ Then he kisses Peter again, and the feel of his tongue against his own is enough to push Peter over the edge, and he comes with a gasp and a cry of ecstasy. Peter reaches for Wade’s dick and jerks him off. It only takes a few strokes for Wade to come as well, collapsing on top of him and only narrowly missing his injured shoulder with his forehead. 

They lie there together for a few minutes, panting, before Wade gets off him and flops down on his back next to him.

‘Well,’ says Peter breathlessly after a moment, ‘that was . . . That was great. My God . . .’

‘Mm,’ Wade replies. ‘It really was.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘I wasn’t sure if . . . I mean, I didn’t know if you’d want to be with me after . . . After that. After what I did.’

Peter turns his head to look at him, and finds Wade’s brown eyes looking back, full of sincerity. 

‘For what it’s worth,’ Wade continues, ‘I am sorry. I mean, I’m not, not in the way I should be, probably. But . . . I want to do better. For you.’

Peter sighs and turns his eyes towards the cracked ceiling, chewing his lip. ‘I won’t pretend that it doesn’t still bother me,’ he says softly. ‘I’ve been . . . I’ve been a real dick to you in the past, over things you’ve done, even when your intentions were good. You’ve saved my life so many times, and I’ve treated you like crap in return, when I should have been grateful. I should understand that sometimes you've got to do what you've got to do. I need to learn to understand that.’

Wade turns over on his side and grabs his hand, squeezing it tight between both his own. ‘No, you don’t. Peter, look at me.’ Peter does. Wade’s expression is intense. ‘You are incredible. I mean it, I can hardly believe that someone like you exists, let alone that you’d be interested in me. The fact that we’re even friends, the fact that you want to be with me, I can’t even wrap my head around all that. And yeah, you give me a hard time, but you’re teaching me to be better. I want to be better. The fact that you’ll tell me what you’re thinking, that you won’t let feelings or sex or whatever get in the way of telling me when I’ve been an asshole, and then forgive me for it, that’s exactly what I love about you, and I never, ever want you to change. Ever.’

Licking his lips, Peter blinks a couple of times. Part of his brain got caught on a word towards the end, and it takes him a while to catch the rest of it. He feels simultaneously moved and like the biggest jerk ever, because all he ever does is try to change Wade. And then his mind moves back to that word and he has to swallow a couple of times before he can speak.

‘You love me?’ he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Wade blinks. ‘What? I . . . I said that? Did I say that? Oh. Um.’ He clears his throat. ‘Apparently I did say that. Um. Yeah.’ He nods slowly. ‘Yeah, I guess I do.’

Without a word, Peter rolls over on his side and captures Wade’s lips with his own. He blinks back tears, kissing him like he’s never kissed him before, hoping that this kiss can convey everything he’s feeling, because he’s sure he could never adequately put it into words. That he loves him, that he’s sorry, that he doesn’t want to change anything about Wade that Wade doesn’t want to change about himself. 

When they finally break apart, they’re both panting again. Peter places a single, chaste kiss on Wade’s lips and whispers. ‘I love you, too.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that devolved into a total fluff-fest, for which I am deeply and sincerely sorry. I hope you can forgive me.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, you guys, I cannot believe I've passed 1000 kudos! Like, what the shit, why do people even wanna read my silly little story? You guys are beautiful, truly! <3
> 
> Oh, and I went to see the Deadpool movie for the second time tonight. Just as good the second time! Gonna see it again with my flatmate next week, probably, we'll see if I find anything to pick on by the third go. Obsessed? Moi? What gave you that idea? :P

The next day, after making absolutely certain that no one suspicious is watching his building, Wade takes Peter home. He’s managed to find some clothes that aren’t catastrophically big on the younger man, and they both dress in civvies and take the subway to Peter’s place. Once there, Wade changes the dressings on Peter’s bullet wounds (they’re healing nicely despite his inferior regenerative powers) and tucks him into bed. Then, after concluding that Peter’s fridge is painfully low on tasty food, he goes shopping.

He buys bread and cheese and milk, salami and bacon, flour and sugar, eggs, pasta, roast chicken, taco stuff (because that’s just a given) and everything else he can think of.

**Are we planning on fattening up Peter?**

_The Spider-Man thing gives him high metabolism; I don’t think we can._

‘We’re keeping him fed so he can heal,’ Wade mutters under his breath, and the clerk looks at him funny while bagging his purchases, as if she wasn’t already trying not to stare at Wade’s scarred face, just visible under his hood. Wade pretends he doesn’t notice, pays the woman and thanks her.

When he gets back to Peter’s apartment, he puts everything away, gets changed, and starts bustling around the place to clean. While it’s fairly tidy, Peter obviously doesn’t have much time for housework, so Wade sets about doing dishes, sweeping the floors (he doesn’t want to wake Peter, so he doesn’t use the vacuum), and has even had time to do a couple rounds of laundry by the time he hears movement in the bedroom. 

A few minutes later, just as Wade is dusting the bookshelf, Peter appears in the doorway, wearing stripy pyjama bottoms and nothing else. He looks less pale than he did yesterday, and doesn’t seem to have bled through his dressings.

‘Man, I slept like the—’ He pauses when he sees Wade, and blinks. ‘Is . . . Is that a French maid outfit?’

‘Pretty hot, right?’ Wade gives a twirl. He’s wearing white stockings and long white gloves with the gothic lolita-ish black dress and white apron. Usually he’d wear his mask, but he knows Peter likes to see his face (even if that makes absolutely no sense), so instead he’s wearing a curly, platinum blonde wig that he got to wear as part of a Marilyn Monroe outfit a while back.

**Oh, we are _so_ hot!**

_And pretty. Don’t forget pretty._

‘Where’d you get the feather duster?’

Wade shrugs. ‘It came with the outfit. Finding one in my size was a chore, I’ll tell ya, but in the end I only had to modify this baby a tiny bit to make it fit. Luckily, I’m handy with a needle and thread.’

Peter continues to look dumbfounded for all of five seconds, before he smiles and sits down in the couch. ‘It looks cute on you.’

**Our Petey called us cute! Yay!**

Wade grins. ‘I packed it on a whim when we left my place this morning,’ he says, continuing to dust the shelf. ‘A sexy nurse outfit would probably have been more appropriate, what with me looking after you and all, but I’m not terribly fond of playing doctor. I mean, medical shit kinda freaks me out, you know? Hospitals still give me the creeps . . . All clinical and sterile . . .’

‘I never really got the sexy nurse thing, myself,’ Peter admits. ‘Like, “Ooh, let me stick you with this needle and give you medicine that make you super groggy!” Yeah, real hot.’

‘Right?’ Wade shakes his head. ‘Now, a maid on the other hand . . .’ He turns to Peter, adopting a subservient pose with his eyes downcast and his shoulders low. Pitching his voice up half an octave, he says meekly, ‘I’ve finished cleaning your home, Master Parker. Is there anything else I can do for you?’ He cocks his head slightly to one side and glances up at Peter shyly. ‘Make you lunch, perhaps? Wash your feet?’ He looks away again. ‘Suck your dick?’

When he looks back at Peter again, he finds him biting his lip. Peter seems to take a deep breath. ‘Start with lunch, maybe?’ he says. ‘I’m actually kind of hungry . . .’

Wade gives him a grin. ‘Of course! I’ll make us a fucking mountain of sandwiches, dude. But first . . .’ He approaches Peter and takes a blanket from the armrest of the couch. ‘Lean forward.’ He drapes the blanket around Peter’s bare shoulders and then kisses his forehead. ‘There you go, Master Parker. Can’t have you getting cold!’

Peter smiles, and Wade thinks he notes a faint pink tinge in his cheeks before he heads over to the kitchen to make them some sandwiches. 

‘With the state of my kitchen, I don’t really have much cause to cook,’ he says conversationally. ‘That’ll be my excuse when this turns out shit.’

Peter laughs. ‘How badly can you screw up a sandwich?’

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ Wade puts on a pot of coffee while he messily layers mayo, lettuce, tomato and salami between slices of white bread until he has created the promised mountain of food. He returns to Peter in the couch with a plate piled high with sandwiches, before returning to the kitchen to fetch the coffee pot and two mugs.

‘Dude, what are you even talking about? Best sandwiches ever!’ Peter digs in with enthusiasm, and Wade is glad to see he seems to have his appetite back.

**Think he’s got an appetite for other things as well?**

_Don’t be an idiot! He’s still hurt._

**Yeah, but we are wearing this super hot outfit . . .**

Wade ignores the boxes (he seems to be doing that more and more these days) and instead chatters on to Peter about everything that crosses his mind. Soon all the sandwiches are gone, with Wade having somehow managed to eat about two thirds of them while keeping up a constant stream of words.

‘So, what do you wanna do now, baby boy?’ he asks, picking up the empty plate and carrying it to the sink. 

Peter shrugs. ‘We could watch a movie or something.’

‘Ooh! Yes! You got any Disney?’

Peter hums thoughtfully. ‘Check the shelf by the TV. I think I might have _Beauty and the Beast_ . . .’

Wade chews his chapped lip. ‘Yeah, something else, then.’

‘Don’t like that one?’

Wade shrugs one shoulder and looks away. ‘Nah, it’s a good movie, but . . . I guess it always struck a little close to home, ya know? Only I won’t ever turn back into a handsome prince.’

‘Hey.’ Peter’s tone is sharp, and Wade forces himself to meet his gaze only to find that it is as soft and kind as it has ever been. ‘You’re a handsome prince to me. Always will be. Or, you know, princess, as the case may be.’ He eyes Wade’s skirt pointedly and grins.

Wade smiles in spite of himself and walks over to the DVD shelf. Studying the titles for a few moments he finally picks out _Airplane!_ because that one fucking never gets old, and puts it on. He sits in the couch and is extremely happy to find that Peter snuggles up to him, resting his cheek on Wade’s chest and playing with the lace on the bodice of his maid outfit while Wade flips through the menus.

Wade spends most of the movie doing a quote-along, and botches the lines on purpose after an early mistake made Peter laugh. 

_This is an old movie, though. Like, does he even get these jokes?_

**Shh, you’re gonna make us feel old!**

Only a few minutes remain of the movie when Wade realises that Peter has fallen asleep in his arms. By the time the credits roll he considers whether to just cover him in more blankets and let him nap on the couch, but eventually comes to the decision that he will be more comfortable in his bed. So Wade carefully lifts Peter and carries him bridal style into his bedroom. He tucks him in and is about to head out into the kitchen to get started on dinner when Peter grabs his wrist.

‘Hey,’ he murmurs sleepily, blinking up at Wade. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Just gonna make us some dinner, Petey-Pie,’ Wade assures him with a smile.

‘Okay.’ Peter lets go of his wrist. ‘Kiss?’

_That’s it. Our heart is seriously going to melt._

Wade bends forward and places a chaste kiss on Peter’s lips. ‘Now, you get some rest, Master Parker. Let ol’ DP take care of you.’ He straightens up and walks towards the door.

‘Your legs look seriously hot in that outfit, you know,’ says Peter softly. ‘Not that your legs aren’t always amazing.’

Wade chuckles. ‘Flattery will get you absolutely everywhere with me, baby boy.’

‘’S not flattery if it’s true . . .’

Wade turns around and is about to say something more when he realises that Peter’s eyes are closed, and the steady rise and fall of his chest tells him that he’s fallen asleep again. He tip toes out of the room and quietly shuts the door behind him.

* * *

‘ _I feel pretty, oh so pretty! I feel pretty and witty and GAY! And I pity any girl who isn’t me today . . ._ ’

**We love that song!**

_Yes, that’s why we’re singing it._

Wade flips the steaks and sprinkles some salt on them. When the juices start to flow he takes one of them out of the pan (he likes his steak carried through a warm room) and flips the other a second time, sprinkling salt onto the other side.

‘ _I feel charming, oh so charming! It’s alarming how charming I feel! And so pretty that I hardly can believe I’m real!_ ’

‘You look pretty, too,’ says a voice, and Wade turns around and grins.

‘Baby boy! You’re awake!’

Peter is standing in the doorway to the bedroom. He laughs. ‘Hard to sleep through that, really.’

Wade shrugs. ‘Didn’t mean to wake ya, but dinner is almost done. You like your steak medium, right?’

Peter nods and comes over to lean against the counter island, resting his elbows on the countertop. He’s put on a worn, grey t-shirt with a washed out, unintelligible band logo over his pyjama pants. ‘Mm, smells amazing!’

‘I got potatoes baking in the oven, and greens! Gotta eat your greens, Petey, so you grow up big and strong! _Spidey widey Petey-Pie kissed the girls and made them cry, kissed the girls and made them high . . . I’m not so systematic, it’s just that I’m an addict for your love!_ ’

Peter raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re in a good mood.’

Wade turns off the stove and flips the second steak onto a plate. He sprinkles them both with black pepper and turns to Peter. ‘How could I not be? My beautiful boyfriend is safe and healing, and we’re about to have a spectacular meal together.’ He leans across the island and kisses Peter gently on the lips. ‘I’ve got everything I could possibly want.’

Wade gets the potatoes out of the oven and piles their plates high with food before carrying them over to the table. As they sit down, Peter reaches over and fingers a strand of the platinum blonde wig.

‘What colour was your hair?’ he asks suddenly. ‘You know, before . . .’

Wade picks up his knife and fork. ’Depends on the writer, or the cartoonist, I guess . . . Some of ‘em like me blonde and blue-eyed, others make me darker, like who knows what Marvel canon even is, man . . .’

_Peter’s giving us the look. The ‘what the hell is he talking about’ look._

Wade clears his throat. ‘It was brown. Medium brown, lighter than yours.’

**I think that’s canon, actually.**

_It’s also basically Ryan Reynolds._

Peter nods slowly. ‘I can picture that, with your eyes.’

Wade hesitates, cutting into his steak. ‘I . . . I could get a wig of the right colour.’

Peter smiles and shakes his head. ‘Not for my sake.’ He takes a bite of his steak and shuts his eyes with a groan of pleasure. ‘That,’ he declares, ‘is the best fricking steak I’ve eaten in, like, ever!’ He takes another bite, and the look on his face is pure bliss. ‘Anyway,’ he continues after a moment, ‘I’m asking because I’m curious, not because I want you to be different.’

Wade isn’t entirely certain that he believes it, but Peter’s words make him all warm on the inside regardless, and for several minutes they eat in comfortable silence.

‘I’ve called in sick for the next couple of days,’ says Peter. ‘Can’t run around taking pictures or doing complicated lab work until I heal properly . . . I should probably try and get back to attending my lectures as soon as possible, though.’

‘Aww, you’ll catch up on what you’ve missed. You’re my clever little Spider-boy!’ Wade grins. ‘You’re Dr. Genius McSmartypants!’

When they’ve finished eating, Peter sits back and sighs contentedly. ‘Mm, thank you for the awesome dinner, Wade.’

Wade gathers the plates. ‘Anything for you, studmuffin.’ He clears the table and returns to find Peter’s eyes on him. ‘So,’ says Wade slowly, ‘what can I do for you now, Master Parker?’

Peter licks his lips and meets Wade’s gaze. ‘Well . . . I believe you mentioned something about sucking my dick.’ His cheeks are flushed and he sounds a little breathless.

Wade feels a slow smile stretch over his marred features. ‘Your wish is my command.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional things that I do not own: West Side Story, and the song Georgy Porgy by Toto. Wade rewrote those lyrics in my head weeks ago, he made me use them.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 20k hits, you guys!! I can hardly believe it, it's like those dreams I had in high school where I was suddenly and inexplicably super popular. :P You guys are beautiful and amazing and I love you all!
> 
> It was brought to my attention that I'd forgotten about Spidey's healing factor. This has now been rectified.

‘Ah! Shit . . .’ Peter’s eyes are half closed. The feeling of Wade’s mouth, his hot tongue, overwhelms his senses and clouds his mind. He looks down at his lover in a haze of lust, and is it weird that Wade has never looked hotter than on his knees in a sexy maid outfit, servicing Peter with the sort of enthusiasm he usually reserves for heartfelt renditions of 80s pop songs and Disney musical numbers?

Peter feels the familiar tightening in the pit of his stomach that signifies an imminent orgasm and squeezes the back of Wade’s neck. ‘W—wait, please! Slow down . . . I don’t wanna . . .’

Wade releases him and looks up at him with mischievous brown eyes. ‘This again?’

Peter shakes his head in an attempt to clear it. ‘I just . . . I want to do more. So . . .’

Wade smiles. ‘As you wish, Master Parker. Mayhaps we should retreat to the bedroom?’ He stands and offers his hand to Peter, who takes it and allows himself to be pulled to his feet, pulling his pyjama pants up with his free hand. His cock feels heavy between his legs.

Wade leads him through the door into his bedroom and sits him down on the bed. He strokes Peter’s cheek with a gloved hand. ‘So, what would you like me to do?’

Peter licks his lips. ‘God . . . Anything. I just, I want . . . Man, I dunno what I want . . .’ He takes Wade’s hand and kisses his palm. ‘I just want you. You’re just, you’re so fucking hot!’

Wade makes a noise in the back of his throat. ‘You know what it does to me when you use that kind of language, baby boy?’ he purrs.

Peter looks up at him and smirks. ‘Yeah, I know.’

For a moment Wade looks thoughtful. Then he says, ‘All right, darling. Lie back on the bed. Get comfy.’

Peter does as he’s told, and then Wade is on top of him, frilly skirt and all, kissing him deeply, and his mouth still tastes like Peter’s own dick, which is hot as hell. Wade removes Peter’s t-shirt, licking and biting at his nipples, and Peter groans. Then Wade licks a trail down Peter’s stomach and pulls his pyjama pants off. He stops to give his cock a few teasing licks, but doesn’t linger. Instead he lifts Peter’s legs and hooks them over his shoulders, giving the inside of his left thigh a nibble. Peter’s breath hitches in his throat as Wade lowers his head.

He sucks Peter’s balls into his mouth one at a time and Peter moans out loud, twitching as Wade’s tongue moves further down to lap at his hole.

‘Ah, fuck!’ Peter cries out, and Wade’s chuckle seems to vibrate through his entire body. ‘Wade . . . Oh, God, your tongue!’

Peter can feel himself opening up to this warm, soft, slippery feeling, and when Wade dips his tongue inside, he thinks his eyes are going to roll back in his skull. Words fail him as the feeling takes him, and for a few moments all he can do is whimper. He pushes back against Wade’s tongue, wanting more, wanting him to go deeper, at the same time as he wants to be touched, wants to cum but doesn’t want to.

Wade knows him so well. He teases his dick with a few strokes of his hand, the silky fabric of his glove sliding across the flesh like a cool breeze, while he presses deeper inside, fucking him with his tongue. Peter is a whimpering, shivering wreck within seconds, this feeling too much and not enough.

He finds his voice at last, though. ‘Wade . . . Wade, please! Fuck me!’

Wade lifts his head and grins. ‘I can do that, Master Parker.’ His wig is crooked, so Peter reaches down and pulls it off, running his fingers across his scalp. Wade seems to melt a little, eyes closing for a few moments, enjoying the touch.

Soon he reaches for the lube on the nightstand, removes one of his gloves and slicks up his fingers. After the treatment he’s given Peter, it doesn’t take long before his fingers are inside him to the knuckles. Wade takes his time, though, opening Peter up even more, digging until he finds his prostate and Peter sees stars. 

‘More!’ Peter whines, and he would probably feel embarrassed about the neediness in his voice, only he’s currently incapable of feeling anything but complete and utter rapture.

‘Greedy, aren’t you?’ Wade murmurs, hooking his fingers and pressing against Peter’s prostate once more. A generous portion of pre-cum dribbles out of Peter’s swollen dick as he whimpers with the sheer intensity of it.

‘I . . . I need . . .’ Peter gasps as Wade’s fingers touch that spot again. ‘I need more!’

Wade obliges with a third finger, and Peter’s back arches as he pushes back against the intrusion, a loud moan filling his small bedroom. He can’t think, can only feel, and what he feels is like the ebb and flow of the tide, washing over his naked body, hot and cold, hard and soft, as Wade prods and teases.

‘Wade! Need . . . You . . . St–stop messing around and fuck me already!’

Wade laughs softly, but he pulls his fingers out. It feels strange and empty. Wade straightens up and moves to take off his dress.

‘Wait!’ says Peter breathlessly. ‘Could . . . Could you keep it on?’ He blushes.

‘Oh.’ Wade smiles a crooked smile. ‘Of course. I wouldn’t wanna look at my body, either.’

In his addled state, it takes Peter a moment to take in what Wade just said. Horrified, he grabs Wade’s ungloved hand. ‘That’s not it! That’s not it at all! Wade, I love your body.’ To demonstrate he kisses the inside of Wade’s wrist. ‘I just . . . I like the dress. So . . . I thought it might be hot if you, you know, fucked me in it . . .’ He blushes deeper still, and Wade’s smile softens, becomes more genuine.

‘I think that would be hot as hell.’

There are a lot of things that Peter Parker thought he’d never be into before Wade Wilson walked into his life. For one, he didn’t think he was into guys. He didn’t think that he’d enjoy sucking dick, or that he’d be on the receiving end of anal sex. But above pretty much anything on the list of things Peter never thought he’d be into are things that never even entered his mind, things he couldn’t have thought of before. Such as being fucked in the ass by Deadpool in a gothic lolita french maid outfit.

Wade lifts the skirt to take out his cock and reveals white silk panties—they’re trimmed with black lace and somehow manage to not only not look ridiculous, but look both cute and hot at the same time—and suspenders holding up his white silk stockings with black buttons and bows. It only takes him a few strokes to get himself good and ready, and then he slicks himself up and, once again hooking Peter’s legs over his shoulders, positions himself at his entrance.

‘This what you want, Master Parker?’ he asks silkily.

Peter nods vigorously.

‘Then tell me.’

Peter swallows. Then he swallows again for good measure, before saying, ‘I want you to fuck me.’

‘How do you want me to fuck you, Master Parker?’

‘I . . .’ Peter takes a deep breath. ‘I want you to pound my ass until I scream.’

Wade grins down at him. ‘Yes, sir,’ he says, and then he does exactly that.

It’s hard and slow, and then it’s fast and rough, and Peter doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything more acutely. He grasps at the sheets, and he can’t shut up, every exhale a moan or a groan or a whimper. He gazes up into Wade’s brown eyes, sees the lust and the adoration there, and he has to close his eyes again because otherwise he thinks he might cry.

Meanwhile, Wade is talking to him, and a bit to himself. ‘Fuck, baby boy, you’re so hot like this! You feel so fucking good. You’re velvet, silk, you’re like a beautiful dream! I wish I could just stay in you always, feel like this all the time . . . I know, right? It’s like someone plucked him right out of my fantasy . . . So hot, so fucking gorgeous . . . How could I ever want anyone else? I love you, Peter! I love you so fucking much!’

Peter’s eyes spring open when he says it, and he locks his gaze to Wade’s again. He wants to respond, wants to tell Wade how much he loves him back, but the words catch in his throat as Wade thrusts into him again, drawing a moan from his lips. The moan becomes a choked sob, and Peter’s cheeks are wet.

Wade slows, but doesn’t pull out. ‘You okay, Petey?’ His voice sounds anxious. ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I? Should I stop?’

Peter smiles through the tears. ‘Don’t you dare! I’m fine. I’m just happy. Fuck . . . Wade, I love you.’

Wade leans forward to capture his lips, effectively folding Peter in half, but Peter is flexible. He wonders momentarily if he should feel grossed out about sucking on the tongue that was buried in his ass twenty minutes ago, and finds he doesn’t care. He puts his arms around his lover, feeling taught muscles through the fabric of the dress. ‘So hot,’ he murmurs against Wade’s lips. And then, not caring that it’s the cheesiest line ever, he says, ‘Now, no more holding back. Fuck me like it’s our last night on Earth!’

Wade laughs. ‘I won’t last long if I do that,’ he says softly. ‘I’m . . . I’m getting pretty close.’

‘Me too,’ Peter says with a breathless chuckle. ‘Touch me?’

Wade reaches between them and takes Peter’s dick in his hand, and the next minute or so is a blur of panting, moaning, skin-slapping, toe-curling extacy before they both reach earth-shattering climax.

Carefully, Wade pulls out, letting Peter unfold again, his now aching legs stretching out on the bed. ‘How you doing?’ he asks softly, and Peter laughs.

‘I’m . . . I’m doing great! Holy shit . . .’

Wade gets off the bed and changes out of his outfit into soft cotton boxers. The french maid thing was hot as hell, but it’s nice to have him back to normal, too. Somehow he still has the energy to clean them both up and change Peter’s dressings.

‘You’ve healed well,’ he comments. ‘Our . . . activity didn’t tear the stitches or anything either. At this rate we can take the stitches out in the morning.’

Peter smiles. ‘I may not have a healing factor as sick as yours, but I do heal a little faster than most people.’

Wade returns the smile, taping the compress in place. ‘Don’t think we need to cover this any extra.’

Peter nods, and his eyelids are feeling heavy now. Wade lies down next to him, pulling the covers over them both and holding Peter close. 

The last thing Peter hears before he falls asleep is Wade’s soothing voice whispering, ‘You just get some sleep now, baby boy. I’ll be right here.’

* * *

Peter wakes up some time during the night from a buzzing phone. Not his own. He notes Wade getting out of bed, turns over and falls asleep again almost at once. The next time he wakes the room is flooded in sunlight. It must be getting close to midday, and Peter is alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a request recently for panties and rimming, and I am nothing if not flexible, so here you have both. ;) I hope you all enjoyed the sexy times because next chapter we'll be back to, *le gasp* PLOT! :O


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming up on the end! I think, anyway. A few chapters left to go, but we got us some plot now. As usual, you guys are amazing! Your comments keep me going. I love hearing from you, so keep 'em coming! Today I also got to see some beautiful fanart that a reader has made for this story. A link will be provided in a note as soon as the artist has posted her work, as it's just fucking awesome! All my love for you all! <3

There is no answer to his texts, and Peter’s calls go straight to voicemail. Feeling better than yesterday, he puts on his clothes and heads up to the Bronx to Wade’s apartment, but it is empty and dark with no sign that anyone has been there since yesterday morning, and Peter returns home with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Where could Wade have gone? Did something happen? 

By mid afternoon, Peter’s worries have turned to full scale fretting, and he’s pacing his living room, running through his options in his head. He could put on his Spider-Man suit and go look for Wade himself, but even though he feels fine he knows his body is still healing. If he does find Wade and he’s in serious trouble, Peter might not be strong enough to save him. He could contact The Avengers or The Fantastic Four, request their aid in tracking down Wade. But how does he explain to New York City’s greatest heroes that they need to help him save Deadpool? Who else could he try to contact? Daredevil? The X-Men, maybe?

There’s a knock on Peter’s door, and he wants it to be Wade, needs it to be him so badly that he doesn’t even stop to consider who else it might be. Rushing to the door he pulls it open, Wade’s name on his lips, ready to kiss him in relief, punch him for leaving without saying anything—

‘So this is what ya actually look like.’

Peter blinks, staring wide-eyed at the man before him. He’s seen him out of costume before, but he never expected to find him on his doorstep. ‘Logan?’

Wolverine’s hands are in the pockets of his jeans, and he’s dressed in a grey wife beater and checkered flannel shirt. He gives Peter what might constitute a smile on someone else, but on Logan’s gruff face it looks like a grimace. Wordlessly, Peter steps aside, and Logan walks his broad frame into the tiny apartment.

‘Sorry for showin’ up at yer door like this,’ he says, once Peter’s closed the door and is facing him. ‘I know you value yer privacy and guard yer identity like a hawk, but . . . I didn’t really have many options, so I followed my nose.’

Peter crosses his arms across his chest. ‘So . . . What do you want?’

Logan scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. ‘Don’t really know how to say this . . . Wade’s been captured.’

‘Wait, what? By who?’

‘The Anti-Mutant Defence League. You know ‘em?’

Peter nods, looking away. He slowly walks over to the couch and drops down in a seat. It’s as if all his worries have come to life. Wade’s been captured. They can’t kill him, but . . . Who knows what they’re doing to him by now?

‘What . . . What happened?’ he asks after a few moments’ silence. 

Logan leans against the kitchen counter island. ‘After you were shot . . . Wade gave me some intel and asked me to call him if I dug anything up on the bastards that did it.’

‘The bastards that did it are dead,’ Peter points out. He is unable to keep the edge of bitterness out of his voice; he’s forgiven Wade, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

‘Yeah, but their bosses ain’t. Anyway, we tracked down a group of ‘em, so I called Wade like I promised, and he came to help us out. But these weren’t like the thugs the two of ya fought the other night. These were professionals. They had skills and know-how. They knew to aim for Wade’s head. He went down like a sack of bricks. Nightcrawler tried to Bamf over and get him out of there, but . . . He got hurt bad. It was all we could do to get him outta there, and in all the confusion Wade got snatched.’

Peter nods slowly. ‘So, how do we find him?’

Logan shrugs. ‘That part’s already done. Wade’s got kind of a . . . particular scent. I’ve already tracked him, I know where he’s being held. But it’s heavily fortified. Armed guards, all exits covered, alarms . . . We gotta be smart about this, disable the systems, sneak inside, if we wanna get him out. Now, I know you got hurt, but—’

Peter stands up at once. ‘Let me go get changed.’

‘Wade’s gonna try and kill me for gettin’ you involved,’ says Logan, and there’s a hint of amusement in his voice.

‘Yeah, well, Wade can kiss my ass,’ Peter says, heading towards his bedroom.

‘I was under the impression he already had, and then some.’

Peter turns around, and finds Logan actually smiling now. He returns the smile, in spite of himself. ‘Wouldn’t shut up about me, huh?’

‘Wade talks about whatever’s on his mind, most of the time. At the moment, that mostly seems to be you.’ Logan pauses, studying Peter’s face. ‘Gotta admit, I worried that it was all in his head or you were jerkin’ him around somehow . . . But this is as real for you as it is for him, ain’t it?’

Without hesitation, Peter says, ‘Yes.’

Logan nods. ‘Yeah. All right, come up to the roof when you’re done. Pick-up in five.’

* * *

Wade doesn’t know how long he’s been chained up like this. He’s in some kind of warehouse or bunker, and he’s been hanging by his wrists from the ceiling since he woke up. It’s getting to be a little uncomfortable, especially since he’s starting to get kind of desperate for a piss, but for the most part he’s just bored out of his skull. He’s been under guard the whole time, and he’s tried talking to his captors, but he gets no response from them.

_They’re probably under orders not to talk to us . . ._

‘Are you under orders not to talk to me?’ Wade asks out loud. There is no response, and he wriggles a bit, legs swinging a few inches above the concrete floor. ‘Seriously, can I at least go to the bathroom?’

His guard turns away from him and walks over to the room’s only door. He lifts two fingers to his ear, says something in a hushed voice, opens the door and then leaves. Wade wriggles again. He kicks his legs, as if that’s gonna make them longer and let them reach the floor. He could try chewing off his own shoulders, but fighting his way out without arms will be tricky.

He doesn’t look up when the door opens again, still kicking his legs in futility. 

‘That won’t do any good, you know.’ It’s a familiar voice, with an unplaceable accent, and Wade looks up in surprise.

‘Really? No! What?’ He squints. ‘Why?’

‘Why not?’ says Daken with a shrug. He stands leaning against the door, his arms crossed casually over his chest. He’s wearing black jeans, a black tank top and combat boots. 

**Well, that’s one hell of a plot twist . . . Not! Evil baby Wolverine sides with the bad guys!**

_It’s almost like Daniel Way wrote it. Except then it would be good._

‘I’m guessing,’ Wade kicks his legs again, ‘that you’re not here to rescue me.’

‘You’re guessing right.’

‘I’m guessing also,’ Wade wriggles some more—he really has to piss now, ‘that these guys don’t know that you’re a mutant.’

‘Right again,’ says Daken with a smirk. ‘Aren’t you the clever one, Wade Wilson?’

‘What if I were to tell them?’ Wade challenges. 

‘Like they’d believe you over me!’ Daken scoffs. He stands up straight and prowls closer, the tattoo on his arm seeming to swirl with the motion of his muscles as he clenches and unclenches his fist. His black mohawk falls attractively in front of his pale grey eyes. ‘But why would you want to tell them?’ he continues silkily. ‘We don’t have to be enemies, Wade. We could be . . . friends.’

**Man, Daken is really hot!**

_I’m inclined to agree. Bet he makes a spectacular power bottom!_

Wade shakes his head. ‘Nuh-uh, baby Wolverine! I’m immune to mind mojo. You can’t sway me!’

Daken smiles, baring his teeth. ‘It’s not mind-mojo, my dear. It’s pure pheromones. Not that I need them. You already want me. Why wouldn’t you?’ He stops in front of Wade, reaches out and cups him through his suit. ‘There are many, many potential benefits to being on my side.’

It’s sort of an impulse. It just seems like the thing to do, really, and his bladder is so full anyway, so with Daken’s hand on him, Wade just lets go.

Daken clearly smells it before he feels it, his nose wrinkling and his brow furrowing, and a second later, as the first drops break through the fabric of the suit, Daken pulls his hand back as if burned.

Wade gives a satisfied sigh as he fills his suit up with urine. ‘Oh man,’ he sighs. ‘I’ve been holding that since last night, however long that’s been . . . Like, would it kill you people to have some windows up in here so I could get an idea of the time?’

‘You are disgusting!’ Daken sneers.

Wade shrugs as well as he can, hanging by his wrists. ‘I told your boys I had to go. They didn’t listen.’

‘And stupid. My side is the winning side.’

‘Chaotic neutral, motherfucker!’ Wade smirks. His piss drips into a puddle on the floor. ‘I’m on my own fucking side.’

Daken turns away with a disgusted look on his face.

‘Hey, prodigal son,’ says Wade. ‘Answer me straight. Why are you siding with the folks who wanna kill folks like you?’

Daken sticks his hands into his pockets and looks back at Wade for a second. ‘Maybe I just want to watch the world burn.’

Wade shakes his head. ‘Nah, man. That’s not it. You wanted to watch the world burn, there’d be plenty more efficient ways of doing it. You’ve got one reason, and one reason only to team up with these shitsticks. You just wanna piss off your dad. Only reason to be this much of a douchenozzle. You two seriously need to hug it out, man.’

Daken rolls his eyes. ‘You fucking hero-types . . . Always trying to fix things.’

‘Hero-type? Moi? I’m flattered, Loganette! But I ain’t a hero. I’m just sick of your daddy issues fucking shit up all the time. When normal people are fighting with their parents they slam doors, maybe knock over a vase. When you fight with your dad, you level whole city blocks. And it’s sooooo fucking passé, dude!’

The punch to his gut comes out of nowhere, and knocks the air out of him, though it’s hardly a surprise. As soon as he’s managed to suck in a breath, Wade laughs. 

‘Struck a nerve, didn’t I?’ he wheezes. ‘Oh, my baby Wolverine . . . Get the fuck over yourself. You may be stronger than I am, but I heal better. I’ll outlive you.’

‘True,’ says Daken, flexing his fist with a look of unconcern on his face, ‘but your precious Spider-Man won’t.’

**Did he threaten our Peter?**

_He did. We have to kill him. Like, now._

Wade takes a deep breath and tries not to let any emotion through in his voice. ‘What the shit are you talking about?’

‘Oh, please!’ Daken smirks at him. ‘Even if I hadn’t had the reports of you killing a whole squad of my men to save his life, I can smell him and his cum all over you. Well.’ He wrinkles his nose again. ‘Maybe not anymore. The stench of your urine is fairly overpowering.’

‘Yeah, my piss is pretty potent,’ Wade agrees. ‘Probably strong enough to cover up your pheromones. As for Spidey, you wanna kill him you gotta go through me first!’

Daken laughs a soft, cruel laugh. ‘Oh, Wade . . . But I already have. I’ve got you right here, and you’re not getting out. There is nothing you can do to protect your precious Spider-Man.’

_He ain’t wrong. We’re kind of stuck here, and if he could smell Peter on us, he can track him to his home._

**We gotta get free! Gotta save Peter!**

‘Oh, he better not be even thinking that,’ Wade mutters darkly. ‘Motherfucker better leave my Spidey outta this.’

Daken laughs. ‘Gladly. He’s not who I want. You’re not who I want, either.’

‘No,’ Wade says. ‘You want daddy dearest. So what am I? Bait?’

‘You’re a lucky coincidence, Wilson.’ Daken saunters back towards the door, and Wade can’t help but watch the sway of his hips. ‘You were never part of my plan, but you fit into it nicely. Logan fancies himself a hero.’ He opens the door. ‘Let him be one.’

The door shuts on Daken’s perfectly sculpted ass, and Wade heaves a sigh. His wet suit is rapidly cooling, adding to his discomfort.

**It was worth it, though.**

He nods at nothing. ‘Fuck yeah.’

**Author's Note:**

> Check out Bar Marian's totally badass fanart for this story, at her DeviantART account here: <http://barmarian.deviantart.com/gallery/>


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